Classic Poem

O WHEN will Spring her chearful sway resume,
And chace the clouds, that dim this low'ring sky,
When will she bid her balmy Zephyrs fly,
And lift her rosy smiles, and genial bloom!
Her flow'ry garlands, breathing fresh perfume,
May kindle pleasure in my drooping eye;
New vigour to my languid frame supply,
And bid fair Health my sickly cheek illume.
Oft as dark clouds o'erhang our dreary way,
Sweet Hope forbids the sorrowing tear to flow;
In all our ills we own her pleasing sway;
And still, forgetful of its present woe,
The mind reposes on some happier day,
When Earth shall smile, and brighter sun-beams glow.