Classic Poem

Though clear the day, it fadeth,
Though calm the starry night,
The dreams her mantle shadeth
Die with the morning light.
Though softly the rose twineth
Her odours with the air,
Her silent head declineth,
Like love beneath despair:
The graceful flower expireth,
The shapeless rocks yet lour,
Nor storm, nor earthquake, tireth
The ocean's hungry roar.
The lute of woman weareth
Beneath a hand of snow,
The sword of manhood beareth
The battle's iron blow:
The gay, the soft, the splendid,
Like the bright mirage flieth:
And all with grief attended,
Deep in the deep heart lieth.