Classic Poem

His soul is like a shining glass,
A mirror, sensitive and thin;
Passions that flare and lives that pass
Through one small life are shown therein.

It mirrors keen and careless mirth;
The love that leaps, the lure that dies;
Its depths contain the fluent earth,
The secret and immoderate skies.

Visions extravagant and pale,
The soft and sharp desires of men,
Reflecting these, each threadbare tale
Grows fresh and eloquent again. . .

His soul is but a fragile glass
Revealing what his age has been.
But it shall live, though all else pass,
For all of Time is seen therein.