Classic Poem

TA MOTTE FOUQUÉ

And thou wert once a maiden fair,
A blushing virgin warm and young:
With myrtles wreathed in golden hair,
And glossy brow that knew no care —
Upon a bridegroom's arm you hung.

The golden locks are silvered now,
The blushing cheek is pale and wan;
The spring may bloom, the autumn glow,
All's one — in chimney corner thou
Sitt'st shivering on. —

A moment — and thou sink'st to rest!
To wake perhaps an angel blest
In the bright presence of thy Lord
Oh, weary is life's path to all!
Hard is the strife, and light the fall,
But wondrous the reward!