Classic Poem

By each aim to which I strive,
Longing on life's way;
With each step by which I rise
Still I find no stay;
Scarce I clasp some happy joy
Ere 'tis gone and past,
Wanting, wanting,
Ever wanting to the last.

Rest I find not in my knowledge,
In what I do, or feel,
Time beneath my feet keeps turning
Still its restless wheel;
Scarcely is one foot set down
For a moment's space,
Onward, onward,
Ever onward is the race.

Winged hope I follow after,
With its promise fair,
Still its song deceives me ever,
Always near, yet ever there.
O how sweet comes night's refreshing
For tir'd hand and weary brain,
Then with morning
To awake and strive again.