Classic Poem

Some teach that purity's high grace
Dwells but with those, who sternly chase
Each thought inspired by woman's face
In all its modest splendour—
They bid you shun those timid eyes
Which can, at worst, but court surprise,
And when the wished pursuer flies
Grow sad still more than tender.

Yet see how purest lilies grow—
What genial gales around them blow!
'Tis not 'mid chilling ice and snow
They gain their snowy splendour;
Nor need ye seek a loftier strain
Of purity than he may gain
Who lives without one deeper stain
Than what those looks engender.

O where shall bright-eyed Temperance go
And Modesty in vest of snow
Wearing upon her cheek the glow
Of roses newly blown
If all the gifts of eye and ear
Our chastened senses can supply
Each soul that seeks the purest sky
Must here on earth disown?

When Heav'n withdraws Life's summer breeze
Then—then 'tis time enough to freeze
Then Love's quick fire were but disease
The hastener of our doom
True goodness pleased with Nature's plan—
To fill the sphere she marked for man,
Can calmly shrink into a span
Then sink into the tomb.