Classic Poem

One smile on poor Friendship bestow!
E'en Hymen that smile must approve,
Since Friendship, though turn'd away now,
Was a steward most faithful to Love!

If your heart without culture or toil,
Now fertile in happiness prove,
'Twas Friendship first garden'd the soil
For the Paradise-harvest of Love!

Shall the earth, 'mid the roses of June,
May's virginal violets scorn?
Shall the sky, 'mid the splendours of noon,
Forget the sweet blushes of morn?

Oh! where were the roses of June
Had not May put the winter to flight?
And where were the splendours of noon
If morn had not banish'd the night?

If Love, like the noon's summer sun,
A glow more ecstatic impart;
Yet Friendship, ere rapture begun,
Was the May and the Morn of the heart!

Though Friendship her balm may refuse,
When with manhood's strong passions we rage;
Yet she blest us in youth, and renews
All her blessings to cheer us in age!

So day, with her bright banners furl'd,
As she sinks in the westerly wave,
Sees the dew which her cradle impearl'd
Return to bespangle her grave!