Classic Poem

Three darling young damsels engaged in a wrangle
Concerning the charms of that secret triangle
We are never permitted to see.
Neither Polly nor Betty nor Susan would yield;
And, as each claimed the prize for her own special field,
They referred the whole matter to me.

Dear Poll was a garden where red roses grew,
Set about a clear fountain; and as for sweet Sue,
She was ruby and pearl mixed together.
And then came fair Betty; the smoothest of glass
Could scarcely the sheen of her satin surpass,
As soft as a dove's burnished feather.

Like Paris I gazed, and still lingered in doubt;
For the more that I looked the more charms I found out
And began fresh delights to discern.
But I'm not such a fool as the Shepherd of Troy,
And I did not wish either dear girl to annoy:
So the prize I gave each one in turn.