Classic Poem

The Seen from the Unseen
Is bounded by a breath, —
So very faint the line
We scarce know which is death.

We scarce know when to laugh,
And never when to weep;
We smile when babes are born,
We mourn when old men sleep.

Blithe rings the natal chime,
And sadly sobs the knell, —
The priest who prays below
Is wiser than the bell.

Last night while Dian slept,
Strange wonders filled the sky;
An infant softly crept,
A pale ghost shuddered by.

Twelve round and ripened moons
Dropped from their withered stem;
And twelve fair blossoms came,
To ripe and fall like them.

The clouds, like pale-faced nuns,
Hung weeping o'er a bier;
While gray and hooded hours
Were bearing out the year.

Fair speed the funeral train!
But to each year its due:
There cypress for the Old —
Here roses for the New!

Let gladness fill the cup,
We drink a courtly toast, —
Health to the living heir!
Peace to the graybeard's ghost!