Classic Poem

Some joys we loudly tell;
Some thoughts we keep apart,
Fenced round, and bid them dwell
In inmost heart.

Close in that heart (their den)
The tiger passions sleep:
There too, shut out from men,
Resolve lies deep.

There dreams repose, — so fair,
So frail, that but to sigh
Their names unto the air,
Would force them die.

These give, like violets hid,
A perfume to the mind;
Give light, as once they did,
To poet blind!