Classic Poem

Haste not to joy: harbor the sweet suspense.
The sun surprises not the world with light
But dawns with ever-lessening reticence,
Nor is the starry curtain of the night
Let fall ungently. Yon full river flood
Paused often at some meditative pool.
The rose holds back its glory in the bud
And Nature's temple has its vestibule.

So let your wooing be: first, with such look
That Fate must wait till your one word be spoken;
Then choice; then tenderness; and then the token
Of clasping hands, caressing and carressed.
When you have turned these pages of Love's book
The loved one may peruse with you the rest.