Classic Poem

The blushing rose and purple flower,
Let grow too long are soonest blasted.
Dainty fruits, though sweet, will sour
And rot in ripeness, left untasted.
YeThere is one more sweet than these,
The more you taste, the more she'll please.

Beauty, though inclosed with ice,
Is a shadow chaste as rare;
Then how much those sweets entice
That have issue full as fair.
Earth cannot yield from all her powers
One equal, for Dame Venus' bowers.