Classic Poem

The ruin of a ruin—man of mirth
Pause oer the past & meditate decay
The very stones are perishing to earth
Foundations though alls left will waste away
Time's chissel on whats left still writes ‘Decay’
Which every season wrecks & wears away

A shadow it was present—but tis past
Time sickened & lifes nature met decay
Convulsive winds seemed sobbing out their last
When ruins piecemeal Temple past away
The very stones like clay dissolving lye
& solitude half fearing learns to sigh

See'st thou the steps of yesterday
The night before the last
See'st thou when darkness went away
& daylight winnowed past
The present is—& shadows are
What was so very bright & fair

Spring meadow flowers—was suns & joy
Of present happiness
But when the summer filled the sky
All was another dress
They changed to seed among the hay
& dyed when summer went away