A Meager Thing

It all is but a meager thing to see;
The morning setting fire to the skies.
The wind does little more than whisper lies
When a gale pretends to disturb the sea.

Great Mount Vesuvius and the burning 
Of Alexander's Library left some
Mark upon the world, but so little comes
From such things so immune to shadow's cling.

My speech is true, and every word I've meant
The suffering of the world is but a jeer
And all of joyous singing but a dirge...
If your beauty and your accomplishments

Are not as the `waking morn of May's fair.
Or if your kiss is less than sorrow's scourge.