Classic Poem

In dusky gloom she sits apart,
Beyond the moonlight's silver glow,
With tender fancies at her heart, —
That bloomed, and withered, long ago.

Her patient eyes are wet with tears,
Her face is pale with want and care,
And all the griefs of all her years,
Transfigured, crown her snowy hair.

Gaunt sorrow claims her, heart and brain;
She bears the burden of the cross;
She hears a solemn dirge of pain,
The sad, old song of love and loss. ...

So glide the lonesome hours away:
The song is still, the grief is past;
Alike to her are night and day —
And life and trouble rest at last.