Classic Poem

Every falling star
To its fate is lit.
Nothing falls so far
As we pity it.
Woman like the dove
From her blasted tree,
Finds some fallen love,
Some fierce sympathy.

Out into the night
Is not wholly dark;
On the billows' might
Rides the human bark.
What can break the womb
Dies not in the pit;
Hell's a better home
Than we pity it.

Nothing falls as deep
As we pity it:
By your side may sleep
Crime's long hypocrite,
While the bold, frank wolf
Acts that dreamer's part,
Taking to his gulf
No such sneaking heart.

All the felon's lusts
Are the good man's joys.
Age its millions trusts
To the convict boys;
In the ranks enrolled,
Colors never furled,
Firm the guilty bold
Guard the coward world.

Human nature's chief
From the gibbet tree
Took the dying thief,
Not the Pharisee,
To his heavenhood,
Fellow judge of his:
Nothing is so good
As we think it is.

Every heavenly orb
Has the rust of ours,
All that breathe absorb
Errors with their powers;
Habits, virtues are,
Stars erode by grit;
Nothing falls so far
As we pity it.

Death is not as hard
As we pity it:
It is life's reward,
Age's sweet acquit;
No more pain than birth,
No worse end than rust.
Thou indulgent earth!
Take thy loan of dust!