Classic Poem

Julia once stroke me with a ball of snow;
I thought snow was not fire, yet that was so
Then snow what's colder? yet't had pow'r t'inflame
My breast, when from my Julias hand it came.
What place have lovers free from treacheries,
When fire within congealed water lies?
Julia alone can make my flames expire,
Yet not with ice, or snow, but equal fire.