Classic Poem

Passing a room, there stood a desk;
When I carried the bedclothes in,
There on a book—a marble skull,
Seen at night through shadows dim.

Here my wearied spirit gushed in phantom urge,
The glow in elegy of bygone love!
A bone with holes, here set to prove the ages …
O ghost, tell me, dost thou mortally surge?

But dreams do not repeat!
Thence I burst upon this skull.
Away, ye weird visions real!
Thou art but a symbol
To dote my memory fold,
To serve this seal.