Classic Poem

Thou art so fair, and young withal,
Thou kindl'st young desires in me,
Restoring life to leaves that fall,
And sight to eyes that hardly see
Half those fresh beauties bloom in thee.

Those, under sev'ral herbs and flow'rs
Disguis'd, were all Medea gave,
When she recall'd time's flying hours,
And aged Aeson from his grave,
For beauty can both kill and save.

Youth it enflames, but age it cheers,
I would go back, but not return
To twenty but to twice those years;
Not blaze, but ever constant burn,
For fear my cradle prove my urn.