Classic Poem

Fair as the morning shines our vernal age,
Yet not unclouded is the smiling scene;
And few on beds of flow'rs repose serene,
Safe from each passion's wild tumultuous rage:
Alas! what art their fury can assuage
In feeling souls? and Danger, Care, Chagrin,
Oft wait us, ev'n when life is fresh and green,
Unknown, unfriended, on the world's wide stage.
For some in vain yon golden sun displays
His joyful lustre, while with downcast head
They mourn in Melancholy's chearless ways:
And, like the rose in early blossom shed,
Some leave repining their sweet blooming days,
And, pleasing life scarce tasted, join the dead.