Classic Poem

This little vault, this narrow room,
Of love and beauty is the tomb;
The dawning beam that gan to clear
Our clouded sky lies darkened here,
For ever set to us, by death
Sent to inflame the world beneath;
'Twas but a bud, yet did contain
More sweetness than shall spring again,
A budding star that might have grown
Into a sun, when it had blown.
This hopeful beauty did create
New life in Love's declining state;
But now his empire ends, and we
From fire and wounding darts are free:
His brand, his bow, let no man fear;
The flames, the arrows, all lie here.