Classic Poem

1

In your converse we best can read,
 How constant we should be;
But, 'tis in losing that, we need
 All your Philosophy

2

How perish'd is the joy that's past,
 The present how unsteady!
What comfort can be great, and last,
 When this is gone already?

3

Yet that it subtly may torment,
 The memory does remain;
For what was, when enjoy'd, content,
 Is, in its absence, pain.

4

If you'll restore it, we'll not grieve
 That Fate does now us sever;
'Tis better by your gift to live,
 Than by our own endeavour.