Classic Poem

A dial, looking from a stately tower,
While from his cloudless path in heaven the Sun
Shone on its disk, as hour succeeded hour,
Faithfully marked their flight till day was done.

Fair was that gilded disk, but when at last
Night brought the shadowy hours 'twixt eve and prime,
No longer that fair disk, for those who passed,
Measured and marked the silent flight of time.

The human mind, on which no hallowed light
Shines from the sphere beyond the starry train,
Is like the Dial's gilded disk at night,
Whose cunning tracery exists in vain.