Classic Poem

All through the days of May, the cuckoo calling,
Reminds us that the Spring-tide now hath come;
And every song-bird sings, though showers are falling,
For nature, joyous, ceases to be dumb.

In youth how pensively we love the days,
When Autumn's sweet decay is over all;
When woods are brown and golden, and the haze
Of dying summer seems o'er us to fall.

Though few the shadows that have crossed our path,
We love the long drawn sigh, the soft lament;
What wrongs we lack, imagination hath;
With fancied sorrows we are well content.

With manhood still before us, in our prime,
We contemplate serenely Nature's death;
And love the falling leaves in Autumn time,
Yet think but little what the preacher saith.

But when the sorrows of our life are come,
And all the ills to which our flesh is heir;
When Azrael hath visited our home,
And we are tempted to a dark despair —

When age is creeping on, we pause to think;
To Nature's resurrection now we cling;
Of waters of Nepenthe fain would drink;
We bless the rays of Hope which come with Spring.