Classic Poem

Ye years unknown, what sorrow and delight
For mortals yet unborn have ye in store!
Behold! I think upon the past no more,
But give my thoughts to you by day and night.
For you I toil, forgetful of the flight
Of fleeting years that I am wafted o'er,
Expecting happiness, unknown before,
In future days of glory calm and bright.

But who can tell how far I have to go
On life's untiring path? or knows the things
Ye yet may bring to pain my heaving breast?

O come propitiously: for in my woe
How often do I wish that I had wings
That I might flee away and be at rest.