I wish there were some wonderful place Called the Land of Beginning Again,
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,
And all our poor, selfish grieves1
Could be dropped, like a shabby2 old coat, at the door,
And never put on again.
We would find the things we intended to do.
But forgot and remembered too late
Little praises unspoken, little promises broken
And all of the thousand and one
Little duties neglected that might have perfected
The days of one less fortunate
So I wish that there were some wonderful place
Called the Land of Beginning Again.
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,
And all our poor, selfish grieves
Could be dropped, like a ragged old coat, at the door,
And never put on again

What is the TONE of the poem above?