Classic Poem

Within the breast these sacred garments cover,
There is no altar of celestial fire:
I am a woman weeping for my lover,
The victim of a hungering heart's desire.
Veiled as I am, behold in what disorder
Your will has plunged me; and in vain I try,
By prayer and rite, to reach some tranquil border,
Where virtues blossom and where passions die.
But when I think the conquest gained, some tender
And radiant memory rises from the past;
Again to those sweet transports I surrender;
Remembered kisses feed me while I fast.
Though lost my lover, still my love endures;
Though sworn to God, my life is wholly yours.