Classic Poem

We see him then but as in masquerade,
He comes but as the wizard of life's tale,
But different far the case is when displayed,
Before our vision are his banners pale;
When near the dwelling of our youth, the gale
Which passes by, is tainted with his breath;
Then his imaginary trophies fail,
And we no longer list with indrawn breath,
Or hear with pleasing awe the chronicles of death.