Classic Poem

Yes , plain are the lessons which reason bestows,
But such at which feeling must weep when it knows,
And who loves the mirror though polished it be,
Which discovers such sights as 'tis misery to see!

II.

Alas! what avails it to count every spray,
Once blooming and lovely, that withers away,
What avails it to know every barb in the dart,
That is rankling, and ever must rankle the heart?

III.

Is the lightning less fatal because it is bright?
Is ruin more sweet when surrounded by light?
Or can reason's proud torch, as it flashes on high,
Take from death the fierce pang, or from sorrow the sigh?

IV.

Ah no! altho' bright, like a lamp in a grave,
'Tis on coffins and mouldering bones it must wave.
It may dazzle and glare, but dispels not the gloom;
It may shine unobscured, but it shines on a tomb.