Classic Poem

Thy ring!—ah! that is sad in human life,
That friends forget;—not even part in strife,
Nor shun each other with suspicious eye,
But grudge such little pains as to deny
The fairest flower of life what every weed,
The vilest, sickens when compelled to need.
They see how time cuts deeper year by year,
When soul to soul grows not more near and dear;
Already Love's ripe sheaves their gold display,
And yet they let love starve and pine away;
Heedless they see the bright links fall apart;
And thus does heart forget to cherish heart;
But sad the breast, how fair soe'er life's lot,
Where this forgetting cannot be forgot.