Classic Poem

Chloris, it is not thy disdain
— Can ever cover with despair,
— Or in cold ashes hide that care
Which I have fed with so long pain:
I may perhaps mine eyes refrain,
And fruitless words no more impart,
But yet still serve, still serve thee in my heart.

What though I spend my hapless days
— In finding entertainments out,
— Careless of what I go about,
Or seek my peace in skilful ways,
Applying to my eyes new rays
Of beauty, and another flame
Unto my heart, my heart is still the same.

'Tis true that I could love no face
— Inhabited by cold disdain,
— Taking delight in others' pain.
Thy looks are full of native grace;
Since then by chance scorn there hath place
'Tis to be hoped I may remove
This scorn one day, one day by endless love.

Chloris, it is not thy disdain
— Can ever cover with despair,
— Or in cold ashes hide that care
Which I have fed with so long pain:
I may perhaps mine eyes refrain,
And fruitless words no more impart,
But yet still serve, still serve thee in my heart.

What though I spend my hapless days
— In finding entertainments out,
— Careless of what I go about,
Or seek my peace in skilful ways,
Applying to my eyes new rays
Of beauty, and another flame
Unto my heart, my heart is still the same.

'Tis true that I could love no face
— Inhabited by cold disdain,
— Taking delight in others' pain.
Thy looks are full of native grace;
Since then by chance scorn there hath place
'Tis to be hoped I may remove
This scorn one day, one day by endless love.