Classic Poem

Cool, within the Grotto toying,
Soft, on scatter'd roses laid,
What young bud art thou destroying?
Why, to day, those charms display'd?

Trimly plain, in subtle sweetness,
What fond heart is, here, beset?
Why, with negligent completeness,
Loosely curls that tressy net?

Soon, by sufferings, taught to know thee,
O! ye changeful Gods! he crys,
Too, too light, thy falsehoods show thee,
Late, the fond believer's wife:

Then, with foolish wonder, starting,
He compares thy sunshine , past,
With those storms of spleen's preparing,
Which thy present looks o'ercast!

Silly truster! vain supposer!
In his am'rous, empty, mind,
Soft he forsm thee joy's disposer:
Ever grateful, hush'd, and kind.

Out alas! and shame upon thee!
Little dreams he what a sky ,
Heaping clouds in whirlwinds on thee,
Soon shall dim thy future eye.

Pity, Gods! those faithful creatures,
Yet, unbroke to woman's arts:
Fondly trusting lovely features,
And for smiles , exchanging hearts .

As for me , by heaven befriended,
Long ago, I scap'd the storm:
Safe, with all my sails extended,
Flying from that fraudful form:

Broad, my pictur'd story , flaming,
Now shall Love's gay temple grace:
From some pillar's height, proclaiming
Warnings , to the rising race .