Classic Poem

The coy Pastora Damon woo'd,
Damon the witty and the gay;
Damon, who never fair pursu'd
But she became an easy prey.
Yet, with this nymph, his ev'ry power
In vain he tries, no language moves;
Thus do we see the tender flower
Shrink from the sun whose warmth it loves.

II.

Piqued at the little angry puss,
Cry'd he, she sets me all on fire!
Then plagues herself, and makes this fuss,
Only to raise her value higher.

For, that she loves me every hour,
Each moment some new instance proves:
Thus do we see the tender flower
Shrink from the sun, whose warmth it loves.

III.

How to resolve then? what resource?
By fair means she will near come to;
What of a little gentle force?
Suppose I try what that will do?

I know she'll tears in torrents pour;
I know her cries will pierce the groves;
Thus do we see the tender flower
Shrink from the sun, whose warmth it loves.