Classic Poem

Divinest Poesy! without thy wings
Life were a burthen, and not worth receiving;
Youth fadeth like a dream, Care keeps us grieving,
Early we sicken at all pleasure brings.
Thou only art the ever genial maid,
That strew'st with flowers the winter of our way;
Companion meet in city or in shade,
Magician sweet whose wand all things obey;
Thou peoplest with divinities the grove,
Pictur'st old times, and with creative skill,
Mould'st men and manners to thy heavenly will.
Mistress of sympathy and winning love,
O be thou ever with me, with me — wholly,
To smile when I am gay, to sigh when melancholy.