Classic Poem

The full levee, the crowded hall
The gay salon I once could tread,
Mix in the mask, the fête, the ball,
And share them too—those times have fled!

With listless eyes, the giddy throng
So joyous once—so tedious now—
I mark to loathe and scorn—and long
To wear my thoughts upon my brow.

And yet I know and feel full well
The change is not in them but me—
Life has lost Hope's delusive spell
And is—but one sad phantasy.

Fled is the dream that ne'er returns—
Broken charm that ne'er unites—
And my soul faintly dimly burns
Like a past revel's dying lights.

Why should I ghost-like haunt the scene
Of former joys in silent gloom
The mournful shade of what I've been,
The living tenant of a tomb?

No! no, to crowds a long farewell
Give me a desert or a cave
The Hermits grot—the friar's cell
Or better still than all—a grave!