Classic Poem

The wanton boy that sports in May,
Among the wild flowers, blooming, gay,
With laughing eyes and glowing cheeks,
The brighest, freshest, fairest seeks,
And there, delightedly, he lingers,
To pluck them with his rosy fingers,
While, like the bee, he roves among
Their sweets, and hums his little song.

He weaves a garland rich and rare,
And decorates his yellow hair:
The rose, and pink, and violet,
And honeysuckle, there are set;
The darkest cypress in the glade
Lends to the wreath its solemn shade,
And sadly smiles, when lighted up
With daisy, and with butter-cup.

Thus fair and bright each flow'r should be,
Cull'd from the field of Poesy;
But with the lightsome and the gay,
Be mix'd the moralizing lay
Of those, who, like the cypress bough,
A thoughtful shade of sorrow throw
On transient buds, or flowers light,
That smile at morn, and fade at night.