Classic Poem

When the gloom the light appalleth —
When no tear-dew ever falleth
Downward silently —
When the tired heart, from languor
Of Life's poor unmeaning clangour,
Droopeth wearily —
When the day, in its uprising,
Bringeth nought that's worth the prizing,
And the night, all dark and lonely,
No star showeth, but clouds only —
I think of thee.

Pleasures past, a ghastly vision —
Words and looks but now tradition
That thought brings;
Holy Kalends of past meetings
Rise again, with quick heart-beatings,
On spirit wings.
For a moment seems the vision
A reality Elysian
As the joy before the Fall;
While I gaze the brightness waneth,
Passeth, fadeth — what remaineth?