Classic Poem

Full happy is the man who comes at last
— Into the safe completion of his year;
Weathered the perils of his spring, that blast
— How many blossoms promising and dear!
And of his summer, with dread passions fraught
— That oft, like fire through the ripening corn,
Blight all with mocking death and leave distraught
— Loved ones to mourn the ruined waste forlorn.
But now, though autumn gave but harvest slight,
— Oh, grateful is he to the powers above
For winter's sunshine, and the lengthened night
— By hearth-side genial with the warmth of love.
Through silvered days of vistas gold and green
Contentedly he glides away, serene.