Classic Poem

Life's gayest time, with little fear
And many hopes, is blooming youth;
And sweetest season of the year
Is May, all bright with open blooth.
I cannot say which hour is best
From wakesome morning till our rest,
But one was ever sweet with you,
When blossoms fell on evening dew.

The noon sun's glare was white and hot,
And bright the flow'ry world it showed,
And fair the light he, setting, shot
From western clouds wherethrough he glow'd,
And softly gleam'd his upper rim,
That sank to leave the evening dim,
Where tree-stems glow'd with rosy hue
And blossoms fell on evening dew.

In May young dumb things, fair and fleet,
By day in playsome gambols bound,
On little hoofs or soft-balled feet
In fours, along the sunny ground;
And birds, unchill'd by any sting
Of frosty winter, flit and sing,
To hide at night by boughs that strew
Their blossoms o'er the falling dew.

Of late the wind of falltide toss'd
The faded leaves in wheeling flights,
Of late it harden'd with its frost
The ground in gloom of longsome nights,
And soon will sleep in sultry day,
That dries the grass from green to gray,
And, waking cool at evening, strew
The falling blossoms on the dew.

To some the sun shoots evening rays
O'er seas below their bark-borne feet;
To some he gives their half-dimm'd days
In shadows of the high-wall'd street;
To some on houseless wilds he falls,
And some he leaves in prison walls,
And some at home, with nought to rue,
While blossoms fall on evening dew.

Oh! that the days could come and go
While fair to sight, so fair to mind;
Could come and bring no soul a woe,
Nor leave a broken heart behind,
That men should never mingle sighs
With evening air, nor wet their eyes
With bitter tears from woes they rue,
While blossoms fall on evening dew.