Classic Poem

Oft have I search'd the weary world in vain,
And all the rest find love and peace of heart,
But I can only find a sluggish pain,
As one by one the sombre days depart,
Presenting many a toy and useless gain:
Sweet Friend, my longing, wheresoe'er thou art,
O come at length! out of thine ambush start!
The light on field and hill begins to wane.

O dreaming fool (I said), have done, have done!
How should a miracle be wrought for thee?—
When lo, joy came, like verdure to a tree
That, long time stretching wintry arms aloft,
Replieth to a day of vernal sun
With multitudes of leaflets green and soft.