Classic Poem

Wander, spirit?— I!
Who do not even know
Which way I'd go:
Yet sigh:

Who cannot even, first,
What far-off living well
I pine for, tell:
Yet thirst!

Unfailing joys I share;
No hour, however fleet,
But brings its sweet
And fair:

And yet—scoff not!—day gone,
Some silly ghost creeps back,
“What do you lack?”
To groan.