Classic Poem

The genial gales return, and with them bring
The leaves and flow'rs, their sweetly-smiling train;
Once more they lead the blue and tranquil spring,
And wake the Nightingale's melodious strain:
In ev'ry grove the joyous warblers sing,
The Sun beholds serene the fruitful plain,
And all that creep or soar on painted wing,
Inspir'd by Love, confess his pleasing reign.
But not for me the genial gales return,
Or blooming earth in vernal flow'rs is drest,
While for that beauteous form I fondly burn
Too early wafted to the realms of rest:
Save the sad charm of weeping o'er her urn,
All joy is dead to this unhappy breast.