Classic Poem

WRITTEN AFTER THE COMPLETION OF SOME EARLY POEMS .

Whose lot so drear, it ne'er has known
A kindly smile, a cheering tone?
The loneliest live not all alone.

Some form of love the darkest fate
Exists to bless and consecrate;
And none are wholly desolate,

While 'midst Time's myriad hearts, one heart —
To which their own may all impart
Of care or hope — is set apart,

As was methinks thine own for me,
So rich in love and constancy;
Although I so unworthy be.

It far exceeds my bounded lay,
Thy gentle goodness to convey —
Far more its blessings to repay.

Yet meet it seems, ere I repose
From happy labour, at its close
To tell how much to thee it owes;

How much of love to all mankind,
By thine was cherished in my mind;
One genial soul to all doth bind!

And thus, since from love's source doth rise
Our faith in noble destinies,
With yearnings pure that aggrandize

Desires and aims, else poor and base,
For selfish good, till these embrace
The far-off future of the Race;

I may say in this song of mine,
There doth not live a better line
But owns an influence of thine!

I write but words, oh, fairest soul!
But on my heart — a living scroll —
Write thou thy nature, pure and whole.