Classic Poem

Pleasant words to memory
Are pleasant to imagine.
How dark thy skull is covered
And face so purely saddened!

But clothes have enveloped thy grace
Like a poorly set-in flower.
Why dost thou garment thy pace
That should have its turn of power?

The source of talent, O Nature—
How slow and firmly it grows!
Calm thy wrathful spirit, O brother,
From the stupid financial foes.

You endless, tireless being,
There hovers the invisible judge,
Admires from the distance, seeing
What assails their acknowledge.

Here we lack expression;
How sinful 'tis to state
Thy accessible, unknown tension,
Thy impulse to formulate.