Classic Poem

A YEAR — an age shall fade away,
(Ages of pleasure and of pain),
And yet the face I see to-day
For ever will remain, —
In my heart and in my brain!
Not all the scalding tears of care
Shall wash away that vision fair;
Not all the thousand thoughts that rise,
Not all the sights that dim mine eyes,
Shall e'er usurp the place
Of that little angel face!
But here it shall remain,
For ever; and if joy or pain
Turn my troubled winter gaze
Back unto my hawthorn days,
There, — amongst the hoarded past,
I shall see it to the last;
The only thing, save poet's rhyme,
That shall not own the touch of Time!