Classic Poem

The sun has left the skies
And pass'd the azure waves,
And now reposing lies
In ocean's hidden caves;
A veil of darkness shrouds
The bright and lovely dome
Of gold and crimson clouds,
Where late his glory shone.

From silver throne on high
The pale, cold queen of night
Irradiates the sky
With melancholy light.
While all the world's asleep,
Alone I wake to gaze
On that cold moon, and weep,
And think of other days.

The night-wind moans around
And wakes the wild harp's tone.
So mournful is that sound
'Twould thrill a heart of stone.
It dies upon the blast,
And now it wildly swells,—
The spirit of the past
Amid such music dwells.

How wild the pang we feel
In such an hour as this!
When o'er the spirit steal
The thoughts of vanished bliss.
Of friends in early youth
When, unsuspecting guile,
We thought kind words were truth,
And trusted every smile.

Of some we once believed
Could ne'er have been estranged,
Whose fondness hath deceived,
Whose hearts and looks are changed;
Of others who have crossed
Our path—friends of a day—
That scarcely loved, e'er lost,
Like dreams have passed away.