Classic Poem

I.

Joy a fix'd state — a tenure, not a start —
Whence came the cold idea, moral sage?
Sure joy ne'er play'd upon thy grief-chill'd heart,
Nor flash'd its beam upon thy life's sad page!

II.

Or thou had'st felt it but a very start
Of ecstacy, — not permanent, tho' sweet,
Expiring on the bliss it can impart,
With felt delights, tho' undefin'd, replete.

III.

But I have known thee, Joy! in that dear hour,
Which gave me to a father's circling arms,
(Arms long unfill'd by me) and felt thy pow'r
Dispel the pang of absence' fond alarms!

IV.

And I have felt thy soul-delighting beam,
Illume the vision tender fancy brought;
Have felt thee in the kind of deceptive dream,
That gave my heart the long-lost bliss it sought!

V.

Too transient joy! ecstatic passion, why
So little permanent thy lively bliss,
Expiring in a fear, a frown, a sigh,
Awaken'd by a glance, a smile, a kiss!

VI.

Sweet, yet illusive, are thy fragile pleasures,
Unfix'd and wavering thy precarious state;
Bright, yet impalpable, thy golden treaures,
Dear, tho' short-liv'd, th' emotions you create!

VII.

Fleet, yet enchanting, is thy witching hour,
Delight's wild throb, and rapture's tear are thine!
While the keen feelings, vanquish'd by thy pow'r,
The poignant bliss they can't support, resign!

VIII.

Oh come then, charming Joy, 'ere yet the chill
Of age repels thy influence o'er my heart;
While yet each sense responsive meets thy thrill,
Oh come delicious joy, all transient as thou art!