Classic Poem

Grief came by and beckoned me,
(Pity my bleeding eyes,)
I was buoyant, young, and free,
Now am I wounds and sighs;
Grief called out “O, Ho! O, Ho!
What dost thou know to tell of woe?
Let me but clutch thee;” so, and so;—
(Pity my sunken eyes.)

Grief on me hath set his seal,
(Pity my poor dim eyes,)
These old wounds so slowly heal,
In days of youth be wise;
Here, pale Sorrow, face me fair,
I'll fight thy legions of despair,
Until no enemy is there,
Despite my sightless eyes.