Classic Poem

So pleasantly the fleeting days go by,
So much they bring of bliss without alloy,
So much to give my thought and will employ,
Whether upon the fragrant turf I lie,
With face upturned and watch some argosy,
Of white-sailed clouds, freighted with summer joy,
Or track the fancies that, on wings more coy
Than shyest bird's, explore a deeper sky,
Or converse hold with whom I love the best, —
The greatest wonder that my spirit knows
Is — that with so much gone I am so bless'd?
Ah, no! But from this thought it ever flows:
How could my heart contain its vast delight,
If my lost saints were with me here to-night?