Classic Poem

Oh, that along the rolling waves of Time
My memory might be wafted—and my name,
Mingled forever with harmonious rhyme,
Swell some faint cadence from the trump of Fame!
Could I such refuge from oblivion claim,
And know my lyre could yield some living tone;
Then, all unconscious of the praise or blame,
Which o'er my deeds the Present may have thrown,
I should be happy in my waking dream,
My dream of Fame! one star would be mine own,
In beauty from the Future's sky to gleam—
One scarce-heard voice be mine, and mine alone.
Though dark the storm o'er Being's changeful sea,
That light would shine, that music sound for me!