Classic Poem

I.

Dear I NNOCENCE ! thou rose without a thorn,
Sportive, and fearless as the gentle dove,
How art thou left to T REACH'RY'S snare, forlorn;
How dragg'd, relentless, from thy sister L OVE ;

II.

I knew T HEE once, but Life's malignant bowl,
Has poison'd ev'ry virtue, quench'd each fire,
Ting'd the pure, limpid sources of the soul,
And tun'd to Pride's vain ear the flatt'ring Lyre.

III.

Farewell the time, when we were wont to stray,
Or fondly linger in the sweet alcove,
Greeting the tender dawn of op'ning Morn!
Ah! little did I think, I ere should say,
How art thou left to Treach'ry's snare forlorn;
How dragg'd, relentless, from thy sister L OVE !