Classic Poem

When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead,
This withering heart, this faded form shall sleep;
When these fond eyes at length shall cease to weep,
And earth's cold lap receive this feverish head—
Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed,
And Time's obliterating pinions sweep
The spot where poets shall their vigils keep
To mourn and wander near my freezing bed!
Then my pale ghost upon the Elysian shore
Shall smile, released from every mortal care,
While (doomed love's victim to repine no more)
My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there—
Ah no, my restless shade would still deplore,
Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share!