Classic Poem

My comforts drop and melt away like snow.
I shake my head, and all the thoughts and ends
Which my fierce youth did bandy, fall and flow
Like leaves about me; or like summer friends,
Flies of estates and sunshine. But to all,
Who think me eager, hot, and undertaking,
But in my prosecutions slack and small;
As a young exhalation, newly waking,
Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the sky;
But cooling by the way, grows pursy and slow,
And settling to a cloud, doth live and die
In that dark state of tears; to all, that so
Show me, and set me, I have one reply,
Which they that know the rest, know more than I.