Classic Poem

Though wolves against the silver moon do bark,
They blemish not her brightness; nor the spite
Of bawling curs, which she disdains to mark,
Can any whit eclipse her of her light.
So may'st thou slight the railing of ill tongues
If a clear shining conscience be thy guard,
Which, to defend thee from the worst of wrongs,
Will, as a wall of brass, be found as hard.