Classic Poem

A crown, a crown for Love's bright head,
Without whose happy wit
All form and beauty had been dead,
And we had died with it.

For what are all the graces
Without good forms and faces?
Then, Love, receive the Due reward
Those Graces have prepared.
CHORUS

And may no hand, no tongue, no eye,
Thy merit, or their thanks envy.
(from Love Freed from Ignorance and Folly)