Classic Poem

I said within myself: I am a fool
To sigh ever for that which being gone
Cannot return: the sun shines as it shone;
Rejoice:—but who can be made glad by rule?
My heart and soul and spirit are no tool
To play with and direct; my cheek is wan
With memory; and ever and anon
I weep feeling life is a weary school.
There is much noise and bustle in the street;
It used to be so, and it is so now;
All are the same, and will be many a year.
Spirit, that canst not break and wilt not bow,
Fear not the cold, thou who hast borne the heat;—
Die if thou wilt; but what hast thou to fear?