Classic Poem

I SAID to my heart, between sleeping and waking,
" Thou wild thing, that always art leaping or aching,
What black, brown, or fair, in what clime, in what nation,
By turns has not taught thee a pit-a-patation? "

Thus accused, the wild thing gave this sober reply: —
" See, the heart without motion, though Celia pass by!
Not the beauty she has, not the wit that she borrows,
Give the eye any joys, or the heart any sorrows.

" When our Sappho appears, she, whose wit so refined
I am forced to applaud with the rest of mankind —
Whatever she says is with spirit and fire;
Ev'ry word I attend, but I only admire.

" Prudentia as vainly would put in her claim,
Ever gazing on heaven, though man is her aim:
'Tis love, not devotion, that turns up her eyes —
Those stars of this world are too good for the skies.

" But Chloe so lively, so easy, so fair,
Her wit so genteel, without art, without care:
When she comes in my way — the motion, the pain,
The leapings, the achings, return all again "

O wonderful creature! a woman of reason!
Never grave out of pride, never gay out of season;
When so easy to guess who this angel should be,
Would one think Mrs. Howard ne'er dreamt it was she?