Classic Poem

Whose wean left thee empty, O 'pelling guise,
Where in thy power's depth doth crave
Inevitable season, that of Holy Spirit sustained,
Why must I knight my future grave?
Before the lamp of Heaven's search
My soul hath slumbered in captured ties.
Thou who art the forgetful knave,
The mood in outward surge must wave;
There its burden follow must
Through teeming heat in awe recite.
I lowly fare thy disdained trust,
Though ofttime cantor's weary bate
Hath merged my anxious, weeping heart
To fulfill deity that ancient gods of yore have lit!