Classic Poem

Yet sweeter and yet sweeter as we pass
Towards bitter death that slays all songs and flowers,
Becomes the scent that hovers o'er the bowers
Of youth; yet lovelier the bright green grass;
Yet tenderer fair passion's burning hours;
Yet softer all the varied songs of love;
Yet bluer the clear spotless heavens above;
And yet more manifold life's glorious powers.

Now for the first time human life is fair
In that there is no life beyond the grave:
Now for the first time shines the morning air
With true delight,—now first the branches wave
In genuine glee,—now first the roses wear
In perfect calm those tints no power can save.