Classic Poem

Release him, beauty, from the subtle bond
Whose potency has made his bold heart meek,
And all his hopes, but those to win thee, weak,
And those to win thee piteously despond
Though still despairingly he grows more fond!
'Tis, vain, whilst thou with dream-born tones dost speak
Love-music, trifling with his thoughts, to seek
The happiness that braves love's magic wand.
Or since a queen, a queenly boon dispense
And share thy heart with him who holds it rare:
Thou hast no love whose match he cannot bring,
Thou hast no loveliness whose eminence
Were fitter shrined than in the temple where
He is himself the priest and offering.