Classic Poem

Oh sweet forgetfulness
Of earth-born care and woe,
Did ever Lethe's silent stream
In earthly channels flow

Soon would I taste of thee,
And from the healing spring,
An antidote for ev'ry grief,
The flowing goblet bring.

I would not ask to drink
Of pleasure's tempting stream,
Which oft intoxicates the mind,
And cheats it with a dream.

I would not wish the flood
Of Afric's burning plains,
Old Niger with his golden sands,
To roll thro' my domains,

A little curling rill,
Which o'er its pebbly bed
Flows clear, a mossy bank beneath,
With shadowing trees o'erspread,

Whose winding waters creep
Within a narrow bound,
A lovely wild romantic dell,
Begirt with rocks around.

This would I ask alone
To soothe my weary mind,
With murmurings soft, as on its brink
I listless lay reclin'd.

O'er scenes of pleasure past
Nor should pale mem'ry sigh,
Nor turn to images of grief
Her backward glancing eye,

Nor thought, with anxious toil
Life's future years explore;
Free from regret for evils past,
Or fears for those before,

In such a calm retreat,
Thou sweet Forgetfulness,
All stronger feelings far remov'd,
My happy hours should bless.