The Poetry of Life

"Who would himself with shadows entertain,Or gild his life with lights that shine in vain,Or nurse false hopes that do but cheat the true?--Though with my dream my heaven should be resigned--Though the free-pinioned soul that once could dwellIn the large empire of the possible,This workday life with iron chains may bind,Yet thus the mastery o'er ourselves we find,And solemn duty to our acts decreed,Meets us thus tutored in the hour of need,With a more sober and submissive mind!How front necessity--yet bid thy youthShun the mild rule of life's calm sovereign, truth."

So speakest thou, friend, how stronger far than I;As from experience--that sure port serene--Thou lookest;--and straight, a coldness wraps the sky,The summer glory withers from the scene,Scared by the solemn spell; behold them fly,The godlike images that seemed so fair!Silent the playful Muse--the rosy hoursHalt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowersFall from the sister-graces' waving hair.Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his golden lyre,Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;--The veil, rose-woven, by the young desireWith dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of life.The world seems what it is--a grave! and loveCasts down the bondage wound his eyes above,And sees!--He sees but images of clayWhere he dreamed gods; and sighs--and glides away.The youngness of the beautiful grows old,And on thy lips the bride's sweet kiss seems cold;And in the crowd of joys--upon thy throneThou sittest in state, and hardenest into stone.