Classic Poem

The Muse is silent. On her maiden cheek
The blushing hues of modesty appear,
As she steps forth thy judgment to bespeak,
With due respect indeed, but not with fear.His commendation only she would seek
Who all subordinates to truth austere.
No heart but that for which pure beauty glows
Is worthy beauty's garland to impose.

So long alone these songs of mine shall live
As they can find a sympathetic mind,
To which some brighter fancies they can give,
And urge a part more noble and refined.
To distant ages they will not survive,
Their task is done, and they will fall behind.
Merely the inspirations of a day,
In the light dance of time they pass away.

The Spring returns; the comfortable land
New youth attains beneath the vernal fire;
Entrancing odours from the shrubs expand,
Gay peals in heaven the celestial choir;
The young and old in one united band
Through all their senses happiness respire.
But Spring departs! To seed the flowers fall,
And of the past no trace remains at all.