Classic Poem

Why are you weeping for Gyges?
Your lover, though absent, is true.
As soon as warm weather obliges,
He'll come back to you.

At Oricus, snow-bound and grieving,
He yearns for domestic delights.
He longs for the moment of leaving;
He lies awake nights.

His hostess, a lady of fashion,
Is trying to fan up a few
Stray flames of his fiery passion,
Lit only for you.

With sighs and suggestive romances
She does what a sorceress can.
But Gyges—he scorns her advances;
The noble young man.

But you—how about your bold neighbor?
Does he please your still lachrymose eye?
When he gallops past, flashing his saber,
Do you watch him go by?

When he swims, like a god, down the river,
Do you dry the perpetual tear?
Does your heart give the least, little quiver?
Be careful, my dear.

Be warned, and be deaf to his pleadings;
To all of his questions be mute.
Do not heed any soft intercedings
That rise from his flute.

Lock up when the day has departed,
Though the music grows plaintive or shrill.
And though he may call you hard-hearted,
Be obdurate still!