Classic Poem

The lift'ning trees Amphion drew
To dance from hills where once they grew,
But you express a pow'r more great;
The flow'rs you draw not but create.

Behold your own creation rise,
And smile beneath your radiant eyes:
'Tis beauteous all! and yet receives
From you more graces than it gives.

But say, amid the softer charms
Of blooming flow'rs, what mean these arms?
So round the fragrance of the rose
The pointed thorn to guard it grows.

But cruel you who thus employ,
Both arms and beauty to destroy!
So Venus marches to the fray,
In armour formidably gay.

It is a dreadful pleasing sight!
The flow'rs attract, the arms affright:
The flow'rs with lively beauty bloom,
The arms denounce an instant doom.

Thus when the Britons in array
Their ensigns to the sun display,
In the same flag are lilies shown,
And angry lions sternly frown:
On high the glitt'ring standard flies,
And conquers all things — like your eyes.