Classic Poem

Oh! they say she's the belle of the town:
If you doubt it, I'll wage you a crown
That ere long you will rue it.
When you meet her, beware! for she can,
If she choose, charm a sensible man,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!

With the blush of the rose on her cheek,
She affects to be modest and meek:
Ah! I fear you will rue it.
With the flash of her dark hazel eye
She extorts from the gazer a sigh,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!'

When she flings to the zephyr the fold
Of her scarf, with its purple and gold,
Look aside, or you'll rue it!
Like a seraph just dropped from the skies,
She attracts by her charms roving eyes,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!

You may meet her whenever you please,
At the rout, — she's the gem of the squeeze, —
But take care, or you'll rue it!
She'll entangle your heart in her smile,
And for mischief she'll tease you a while,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!

Though enchanting her wit with its spice,
Still her heart is as frigid as ice:
He who weds her will rue it.
So be careful, nor sigh for the bliss;
Yet you may, if you can, steal a kiss,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!

But there's danger in taking a sip
From the dewdrop that moistens her lip;
Who attempts it will rue it:
For in truth she is skilled in her art;
And she boasts, when she breaks a brave heart,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!

She delights to be weaving a snare,
And to feast on the breath of despair:
Who disputes it will rue it.
Let her flirt till as old as her aunt,
Then, desiring to wed, find she can't,
'Tis so pleasant to do it!