Classic Poem

When o'er my dark and wayward soul
The clouds of nameless Sorrow roll;
When Hope no more her wreath will twine
And Memory sits at Sorrow's shrine;
Nor aught to joy my soul can move
I muse upon a Sister's Love.

When tired with study's graver toil
I pant for sweet Affection's smile,
And rich with restless hopes of fame,
Would half forgo the panting aim
I drop the book,—and thought will rove,
To greet a Sister's priceless Love.

When all the world seems cold and stern,
And bids the bosom vainly yearn;
When Woman's heart is lightly changed,
And Friendship weeps o'er looks estranged;
I turn from all the pangs I prove
To hail a Sister's changeless Love.

And, oh, at shadowy close of even,
When Quiet rings the soul to Heaven;
When the long toils of lingering day,
And all its cares, are swept away;
Then—while my thoughts are rapt above—
Then more I prize my Sister's Love.