Classic Poem

Pale Memory sits lone, brooding o'er the past,
That makes her misery. She looketh round,
And asks the wide world for forgetfulness:
She asks in vain; the shadow of past hours
Close palpable around her; shapes arise—
Shadows, yet seeming real; and sad thoughts,
That make a night of darkness and of dreams.
Her empire is upon the dead and gone;
With that she mocks the present and shuts out
The future, till the grave, which is her throne,
Has absolute dominion.