Classic Poem

The book I hold within my idle clasp
Is closed, and sealed, for aught I care indeed;
My mind has now no leisure hour to read
No tale of love, nor old romance to grasp;
My thoughts hang shattered, as a broken hasp
And touch of hands not Fancy's touch I need;
For since you left my heart begins to bleed
Where Memory has pierced it like an asp.

To love you and to lose you for a day
A loss irreparable to me it seems —
The sting of Fate, the worm that never dies.
I cannot live to have you long away
And see, alas! as only in my dreams,
The light of recognition in your eyes.