Classic Poem

I, who am called the soother of all ill,
Who by all mortals am supremely blest,
Begin by strange misgivings unconfessed
To doubt the power my sweet task to fulfil!

For no nepenthean kiss of mine can still
The angry fevers of a suffering breast;
Soaring Ambition scorns my proffered rest,
And haggard Grief defies my puissant will.

Divinely great, yet sadly incomplete,
I strive to quell my rage and not despair
When tortured flesh rebels at my soft breath;
But all in vain! I such resistance meet
That, balked and bitter, I wander otherwhere,
While grimly beckoning to my brother, Death.