Classic Poem

O, YOU are charming, Hester Browne,
So do not, every time you pass
The little Psyche looking-glass,
Find some disorder in your gown!

In every ringlet of your hair,
In every dimple of your cheek,
Whene'er you smile or smiling speak,
There lurks a cruel, charming snare.

There's not a motion of the hand
That shows a grace to lure and win,
There's not a coy, coquettish sin,
That Hester does not understand.

What use to preach of “better things,”
And tell her she is false as gay?
Be still, and let her have her day,
And count her lovers on her rings.

And let her break a hundred hearts,
And mend them with a glance again;
Be sure the pleasure heals the pain
Of little Hester's cruel arts.