Classic Poem

Ah, Hope, no more!
From your sweet, false art
Set free my heart;
For I know that the flake will follow
On the airy way of the swallow,
That the drift will lie where the lily blows,
And the icicle hang from the stem of the rose:
O Hope — no more!

Nay, Hope, once more!
With your olden smile
Once more beguile;
Though I know that the flake must follow
On the airy way of the swallow,
That the drift must lie where the lily blows,
And the icicle hang from the stem of the rose:
O Hope — once more!