Classic Poem

1 Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,
2 Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair,
3 Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot,
4 And murmur soft "She will, or she will not."

5 Go burn these pois'nous weeds in yon blue fire,
6 These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar,
7 This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
8 That all my fears and cares an end may have.

9 Then come, you fairies! dance with me a round;
10 Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound.
11 In vain are all the charms I can devise:
12 She hath an art to break them with her eyes.