Classic Poem

O thou, who lov'st 'mid mystic groves to stray,
Eutorpe fairest of the sisters nine,
Sweet amatory Muse, inspire my lay,
Or lend that soul-entrancing lute of thine,
That I, with something of a fire divine,
May melt the frozen heart of her whom more
Than light or life I prize, than earthly thing adore.

Yes, lady, from those all too beauteous eyes
Resistless Cupid pierced my vanquished heart;
For these the cruel boy in ambush lies,
Triumphant whets his sanguinary dart,
And thence inflicts full many a bitter smart;
For ne'er, since Argive Helen's glorious day,
Hast thou ruled o'er mankind with such despotic sway.

For they do shine so very dazzling bright,
They may be likened to that wond'rous shield,
Which did so totally o'erpow'r the sight,
That those who looked on it straightway did yield,
And fell in deadly swoon upon the field:
But ah! their influence longer far doth last
Alas! it ne'er shall cease till life itself be past.

Those golden ringlets scarce less bright than they,
Impending o'er that forehead's purest snow,
'Mongst which the wanton Zephyrs lightly play,
Wafting them ever gently to and fro,
Into men's hearts sad harbingers of woe,
Are like the flag which heralds furious arms,
Less dang'rous far than thy sunbright celestial charms.
Lady, with gentle pity view my love,
Nor from my tender passion turn away,
Lest I the hapless fate of Clytie prove,
Wasted before thy beauty's potent ray,
Or like sad Iphis dead before thee lay,
And thou, like her he loved, repentant see,
And all too late to save bewail thy cruelty.