Classic Poem

Sav'd, on a shoal, the ship-wreck'd sailor stands,
And views, with watry eyes, and wringing hands,
Soul-chearing prospects, from the neighb'ring lands;
But if he tempts the waves, he toils in vain,
Big, buoyant billows rise between, and float him back again.
Oh! shameful loss of an invited kiss!
Can brittle glass impede so near a bliss?
Frail is our am'rous hope , if love must be
Subservient to a thing, so weak, as thee!
We knew, before , nor sought thy aid to prove,
That light's a nat'ral enemy to love!
But now , thy malice does new arts employ;
First , give the hope, then dash the proffer'd joy .
Thus, absent fanciers dream, they meet the ghost ,
Of some dead partner, whom they value most:
But when, with op'ning arms, they rush to greet,
And, mix'd in mutual grasp, would warmly meet,
Cold blasts of wind divide the starting pair,
And the thin phantom flows away, in air.