Classic Poem

My brows are wrinkled, my tresses are white,
My youth has fled as a swift dream flies,
With its careless glory, and fresh delight —
Soon death will darken my mortal eyes.
Not many more days to me remain
For jest and laughter and wine and song:
I think of the time with ceaseless pain
When death will chill me — grim terrors throng:
For the realm of Pluto is dreary and dark,
Whither all most go when this earth-life ends;
And none when flyeth the vital spark
From the house of Hades again ascends.