Classic Poem

Vain spirits, will both you and I gain
The ungained fund, which thou hast manifested,
The onward surge that conscience wooed?
Truth doth heat pulse's own quiet rest,
But e'er thy aim with ease can chatter,
As luminous twilight slowly fades,
Thus creation in either unfolds apparent shadow.
Neglect hath charmed and soothed the self,
Bathed goodness, while abandoned books
Have described the wild grass, that of flower
Drank my very soul that sank into pelf.
Flushed, misty, mellow hues, there in perplexed
Hindrance strange, floated bodies of translucent forms.
Ah, still orbs chide of watery tear and spirit vexed!