Classic Poem

Brood not on present sadness, lest it grow
Too huge for future joy to overturn;
The event thou couldst not change. Then swiftly learn
The steadfast mind that is not prey to woe.
Whither it lists love's freshening wind will blow;
Soon, soon perhaps, its laughing gusts will churn
The waters of indifference that discern
Naught save the cold moon bidding ebb and flow;

And like an eagle watching half afraid
The home-returning of its nursling fledged,
Thou shalt behold the ship so long delayed,
With all its freight wherein thy hopes lie pledged,
Ride, when the sun turns to a ball of fire,
Into the haven of thy heart's desire.