Classic Poem

Fair, but of fairness as a vision dream'd;
Dry were her sad eyes that would fain have stream'd;
She stood before a light not hers, and seem'd

The lorn Moon, pale with piteous dismay,
Who rising late had miss'd her painful way
In wandering until broad light of day;

Then was discover'd in the pathless sky
White-faced, as one in sad assay to fly
Who asks not life but only place to die.