Classic Poem

Monk.

Why stand'st thou here in silent wo?
O shepherd, tell me true;
A wounded heart I too can shew,
That draws me, friend, to you.

Shepherd.

What need to ask? cast round thine eyes
On this mine own dear vale;
This meadow broad no blade supplies,
And every tree doth fail.

Monk.

Yet murmur not! How light thy wo!
'Tis but a vision drear;
Soon from the soil new grass shall grow,
And buds on trees appear.

This cross that oft I kneel before
Within this orchard fair,
Nor blooms, nor buds, but evermore
A Dying Form doth bear.