Classic Poem

THE PAINS OF MEMORY .

I.

When Joy its fairest flowers hath shed,
And even Hope's blossoms too are dead,
Though Memory through the cloud of woe
A momentary gleam may throw;

II.

'Tis but an ignis fatuus light, —
A fleeting vision, frail as bright, —
That mocks awhile the mourner's sight
To leave his soul in tenfold night!