Classic Poem

While , flushing o'er thy thy olive cheek,
Like the morning's dubious break,
Virgin Shame delights to spread
Her roses of a deeper red;
And those ruddy lips of thine
Emulate the bleeding vine;
Think'st thou C ÆLIA'S languid white
Can allure my roving sight?
Or my bosom catch a glow
From that chilling form of snow?
In those orbs, oh nymph divine!
Stars may well be said to shine,
Stars, whose pointed rays, are made
More brilliant, by surrounding shade;
Shade, thy raven-locks supply,
To relieve my dazzled eye!
Trust me, thy transcendant face
Takes from its brown a mellower grace,
A ripe autumnal bloom benign,
Whence all the Loves, exulting, shine,
As jet emits a glossy light,
From its own polish'd blackness bright.