Classic Poem

I would not tell thee for the world,
Thy early love will change;
I would not see thy sweet lip curled
In scorn of words so strange.

I would not bid thy smiles away,
Nor quell thy speaking blush;
For happy spirits lend the ray,
And timid thoughts the flush:

Yet Love is but a dangerous guest,
For hearts so young as thine,
Where Youth's unshadowed joys should rest,
Life's springtime fancies shine!

Too soon—oh! all too soon—would play,
Years hence, that meteor's thrall,
In gloom and glory o'er the way,
Where now but sunbeams fall!

Then, sweetest, leave the wildering dream,
Till Time has nerved thy heart
To brook the fitful cloud and gleam,
Which must in love have part.

Ah! Life has many a blessed hour,
That Passion never knows;
And Youth may gather many a flower,
Beside the blushing Rose!