Classic Poem

Listen , spring is in the air;
As of old the earth is fair;
Youth is dead, and sorrow lies
With a dream across his eyes.
Softly, swiftly, lest he wake,
Kiss again for Love's dear sake.
Nay, for Love unsmiling stands,
Holds a cup within his hands
Bright and bitter to the brim.
Who are ye dare drink with him?