Classic Poem

Day is done, the winter sun, The
Is setting in its sullen sky;
And drear the course that has been run,
And dim the beams that slowly die.

No star will light my coming night;
No moon of hope for me will shine;
I mourn not heaven would blast my sight,
And I never longed for ways divine.

Through Life hard Task I did not ask
Celestial aid, celestial cheer;
I saw my fate without its mask,
And met it too without a tear.

The grief that prest this living breast
Was heavier far than earth can be;
And who would dread eternal rest
When labour's hire was agony?

Dark falls the fear of this despair
On spirits born for happiness;
But I was bred the mate of care,
The foster-child of sore distress.

No sighs for me, no sympathy,
No wish to keep my soul below;
The heart is dead since infancy,
Unwept-for let the body go.