Classic Poem

In childhood any toy
For one short hour amuses;
And all its store of joy
With its new lustre loses.

The boy keeps up the game
Just as the child began it;
For boyhood's joyous flame
Needs novelty to fan it.

The youth, when beauty's eye
First wakes the pulse of pleasure,
Thinks with a fruitless sigh
That he has found his treasure.

Existence further scan
In all succeeding stages,
View it in ripen'd man,
In hoary-headed sages —

What pleasure can it give
Unless it stoop to borrow,
And lead us on to live
On bliss to be — to-morrow?

What can this world bestow
That should enchain us to it?
Or compensate the woe
We bear who journey through it?

O man! if to this earth
Thy heart is wedded only,
Each hope that comes with mirth
Will leave thee twice as lonely:

And when that hope is gone
Thou shalt be all forsaken,
For having leant upon
A reed by each wind shaken.