Classic Poem

Alas! that sometimes even a duteous life,
If uninspired by love, and love-born joy,
Grows fevered in the world's unholy strife,
And sinks destroyed by that it would destroy!
Beloved, from the boisterous deeds that fill
The measure up of this unquiet time,
The dull monotonies of Faction's chime,
And irrepressible thoughts foreboding ill,
I turn to thee as to a heaven apart —
Oh! not apart, not distant, near me ever,
So near my soul that nothing can thee sever!
How shall I fear, knowing there is for me
A city of refuge, builded pleasantly
Within the silent places of the heart?