Classic Poem

If thy form be matchless fair
 'Tis a form that still eludes me,
If thy lips make sweet the air
 They are lips that still exclude me;
Say those eyes are stars of night
 They are stars that oft mislead me;
Say those curls are beams of light
 They from light to darkness speed me.

Say thou'rt proud—thou shouldst be told
 Pride, like ice-drops in the morn, love,
Glittering on some flow'ret cold,
 Ruin what they would adorn, love!
Say thou'rt dear—yet should'st thou know
 Love must on affection feed, love,—
Where affection cannot grow ,
 Life is sorrowful indeed, love.

Say those eyes are stars of night
 They are stars that oft mislead me,
Say those curls are beams of light
 They from light to darkness speed me:
Bid thy beauty dazzle less—
 Lest the world should all adore, love;
Bid thy lips some love express—
 And than worlds I'll love thee more, love.