Classic Poem

I ASK but this—to mingle with the crowd
That crowns thy beauty with a generous fame,
And guerdons thee with such a glamorous name
The world well wonders how thou art endowed.
Thy face were not more fair if I had vowed
A thousand vanities to vaunt the claim;
And homage no new eminence could frame
Beyond the honour all men have allowed:
The sculptor, raptured with a perfect dream,
Who moulds it into mimic womanhood
And finds a genial god to grant his plea,
And curb a spirit in the marble scheme,
Could tender no more tribute if he would;
The Hand that made thee fair most honoured thee