Classic Poem

Old times forgetfull memories of the past
Are cold & drear as snow upon our graves
In books less then a shadows doom will last
But Fragments there each stranded volume saves
Like some rich gems washed up from ocean waves
But now no summer dwells upon the spot
Nor flower to blossom—the eternal blast
Oblivion leaves the earth in which they rot
Darkness in which the very lights forgot.