Classic Poem

I must
Not trust
Here to any;
Bereaved,
Deceived
By so many;
As one
Undone
By my losses,
Comply
Will I
With my crosses.
Yet still
I will
Not be grieving,
Since thence
And hence
Comes relieving.
But this
Sweet is
In our mourning:
Times bad
And sad
Are a turning;
And he
Whom we
See dejected
Next day
We may