Classic Poem

Well, now they know! The world's malicious arms
Like snakes stretch out, like pistons batter down.
Toward us the missiles of a thousand harms
Are sped; our names delight the leering town.
Corrupt Don Juans of the midnight mart
To their lean spouses mouth our infamy.
Wantons — whose sins, of flesh and not of heart,
Leave them unscathed — prove virtue, passing by.
Could we but flee the world's whole vile intent!
Might we but face it — bid it do its worst!
Yet vain the flight, and vain the argument.
For the world's baseness are we made accursed.
O love, bow down! Weep for the people's sin!
The world, the flesh, the devil, always win!