Classic Poem

Will you conquer my heart with your beauty, my soul going out from
afar?
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautious shikar?

Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking, and blind
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, oh, sweetest and best of your
kind?

* * * * *

Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow--as of old on Mars Hill when
they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar--so I, a young Pagan, have
praised.

The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet if half that men tell me be
true,
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written
to you.