Classic Poem

To Him be praise who made
Desire more fair than rest:
Better the prayer while prayed,
Than the attained request!
Man goes from strength to strength
Fresh with each draughTof pain,
Only to fail at length
Of heights he could not gain.

The soul of live desire,
How shall it mate with dust?
To whom was given fire,—
For ashes shall be lust?
Man's tenure is but breath,
His flesh, a vesture worn:
Let him that fears not death
Fear not to rest unborn.

The crown entails the curse;
Here all the fame that's won,
A harvest for the hearse,
Falls withered to the sun.
There, weary of reward,
The victor strips his wreath;
There, sick with deaths, the sword
Sighs back into the sheath.