Classic Poem

Through waving boughs the wand'ring zephyrs sigh,
And, rolling onward, pass unseen away;
The sparkling stream is ever gliding by
To meet the ocean in some beechy bay;
Aloft in air the clouds of summer stray;
The sun, in golden glory from on high,
In noiseless course sinks down the azure sky,
To end on western hills the waning day.

The air, the flying cloud, the rolling stream,
The sun that rises but to set again,
Are emblems of our life, a fleeting dream

That, in the darksome nightwatch, cheats the brain.
O idle world! Why should I care for thee,
Thus passing through thee to eternity!