Classic Poem

Through a dull tract of woe, of dread,
The toiling year has passed and fled:
And, lo! in sad and pensive strain
I sing my birthday date again.

Trembling and poor, I saw the light,
New waking from unconscious night:
Trembling and poor, I still remain
To meet unconscious night again.

Time in my pathway strews few flowers
To cheer or cheat the weary hours;
And those few strangers, dear indeed,
Are choked, are checked, by many a weed.