Classic Poem

‘Time the Consoler’—so with specious phrase
Men seek their base ingratitude to screen,
Oblivious of the lost ones who have been
Their joy and glory in the by-gone days.
But ne'er shall cloud that low desire can raise.
Or selfish quest of consolation mean.
Or the world's feverish turmoil, come between
Thee and my longing spirit's wistful gaze.
Who will may woo Lethean apathy;
But if the years with dead'ning fingers slow
Could dull thy image written in my heart—
Then should we seem a second time to part;
Forlorn I were indeed, and Time would be—
Consoler? nay, but deepener of my woe.