Classic Poem

Is she fair? You ask me—me her lover!
Who can measure beauty that beguiles?
Who will stop to count his one star over?
If you would yourself the truth discover,
All you need is patience, till she smiles.

Is she true? But how could you believe me—
You who call me bondman to her wiles—
You, who taunt that Time will undeceive me?
Keep your sordid doubts, my friend, but leave me
Bondman unto Duty when she smiles.

Is she young? Who reckons age by birthdays?—
Counts his happy voyages by miles?
Better one of heaven than twenty earth-days.
She who adds new merriment to mirth-days—
She is Youth Eternal when she smiles.