Classic Poem

1.

The young, the wise, the kind,
Hath vanish'd! like the wind
That ripples up the stream,
And sighs itself to rest
On morning's breast.
What now remains to me,
Of him who was, and seem'd to be?
A dream! a dream alone!
I live — and dream
That he is gone!

2.

If God is thought,
Can I, in God, be nought?

3.

If deceived, we deceive,
And but try to believe
That things are what they seem;
If life is the dream
Of numberless numbers
Who walk in their slumbers;
Still let me dream on!

4.

Though he, the meek, the calm,
Seems to me like a psalm
Heard o'er some midnight shore
Awhile, by spirits listening round,
And then heard never more,
But leaving the heart sore,
And stillness vex'd with sound;
Ev'n o'er the life-left tenement
On which a viewless finger
Writes, " This is dust! " almost in hope,
Will love and sorrow linger.