Classic Poem

Ye hours of calms so sweet and storms so rude,
How fast ye from my memory recede!
In truth of you I take but little heed,
As now o'er coming years I fondly brood:
But yet it seemeth good in solitude
To think upon the yet-remember'd deed
And word of those we knew of old, and feed
On bygone things in sweetly thoughtful mood.

And yet I would not end with idle thought;
But where I find an error in the past,
That error in the future let me mend:

So that my pilgrimage may thus be brought
Unto a good conclusion at the last,
When earthly deeds and days to me shall end.