Classic Poem

Her heart, born eager, generous and just,
Failed to perceive the sordidness of lust.
She thought it lovely, and she made it so.
Because of this, about the world there go
A score of men who writhe in generous shame
When hot or icy lips whisper her name.

They turn to silence when her name is spoken.
Not glove or garter is produced as token.
They look with empty, hurt, remembering eyes
Upon a world so good, so chaste, so wise.