Classic Poem

You ask me why my cheeks are pale,
And where their bloom is gone?
But what do rosy cheeks avail,
Where hearts are hard as stone!

Just as my soul in feeling grew,
The blossom died away;
Till all the fleeting florid hue,
Forsook its home of clay.

And who can wear a glowing look,
In lonesome hours of night,
While poring o'er a leaden book,
Before a dying light?

For as the flickering taper fades,
Flash after flash anon;
'Tis soon encompassed with the shades
Of night, though bright it shone.

But from each silent midnight hour,
The soul gains strength within;
Which wears a more substantial power,
Than any tinctured skin.

'Tis then I reap my sweetest thoughts,
When all are sealed in sleep,
And drink ecstatic mental draughts,
From feeling's fountain deep.