Classic Poem

A parent, brother, sister, or a friend,
Tenderly loved, snatched from us in the bloom
Of life, perchance sooner the veil may rend,
Which hides from youthful eyes the yawning tomb.
But yet though this should chance, it is our doom
So full of joy, so full of hope to be,
Mainly in life's first stages, that though gloom
Be in the outline of our destiny
It leaves our untouched spirits unimpaired and free,