Paul Hamilton Hayne - "Too oft the poet in elaborate verse" lyrics

Too oft the poet in elaborate verse, Flushed with quaint images and gorgeous tropes, Casteth a doubtful light, which is not hope's, On the dark spot where d**h hath sealed his curse In monumental silence. Nature starts Indignant from the sacrilege of words That ring so hollow, and forlornly girds Her great woe round her; there's no trick of Art's But shows most ghastly by a new-made tomb. I see no balm in Gilead; he is lost, The beautiful soul that loved thee, thy life's bloom Is withered by the sudden blighting frost; O Grief! how mighty; Creeds! how vain ye are: Earth presses closely,--Heaven is cold and far.