Classic Poem

Adieu, blest Soul! whose hasty Flight away
Tells Heaven did ne'er display
Such Happiness to bless the World with stay.
Death in thy Fall betray'd her utmost spite,
And shew'd her shafts most times are levell'd at the white.
She saw thy blooming Ripeness time prevent;
She saw, and envious grew, and straight her arrow sent.
So Buds appearing e'er the Frosts are past,
Nip'd by some unkind Blast,
Wither in Penance for their forward haste.
Thus have I seen a Morn so bright,
So deck'd with all the Robes of Light,
As if it scorn'd to think of Night,
Which a rude Storm e'er Noon did shroud,
And buried all its early Glories in a Cloud.
The day in funeral Blackness nourn'd,
And all to Sighs, and all to Tears it turn'd.