Classic Poem

I

N O more shall the spring my lost treasure restore,
Uncheered, I shall wander alone,
And, sunk in dejection, for ever deplore
The sweets of the days that are gone.
While the sun, as it rises, to others shines bright,
I think how it formerly shone;
While others cull blossoms, I find but a blight,
The sweets of the days that are gone.
II

I stray where the dew falls, through moon-lighted groves,
And list to the nightingale's song;
Her plaints still remind me of long-vanished loves,
And the sweets of the days that are gone.
Each dew-drop that steals from the dark eye of night
Is a tear for the bliss that is flown
While others cull blossoms, I find but a blight
And I sigh for the days that are gone.