Classic Poem

Ah me! the hour of social bliss is past,
And Friendship's voice no more my soul expands:
From gen'rous mirth I go to gloomier lands,
Where the dull ling'ring moments seem to last
A tedious age: like some lone wand'rer cast
By sullen storms on wild and trackless sands,
Or cheerless pine, that solitary stands
On the bare heath, where howls the wint'ry blast.
On rapid wing Life's dearest moments haste,
Our varied state allows not joy to flow
In one continual stream: Heav'n dooms to taste
By turns the never-failing cup of woe;
Or in the gulph of cold indiff'rence plac'd,
Nor bliss nor pain our languid senses know.