Classic Poem

Of our mixed life two quests are given control:
Food for the body, friendship for the soul.
High as the spirit hovers o'er its flesh
The second quest is free, serene, and fresh.
O sorrow, that so oft the first betrays
This eager searching of celestial ways!
O bitter sorrow, that the first can rise
And pluck his soaring brother from the skies!
But there is joy in musing how there be
These twain in some lives ruling tranquilly.