Classic Poem

Would any one the true cause find
How Love came nak't, a Boy, and blind?
'Tis this; listning one day too long,
To th' Syrens in my Mistresse Song,
The extasie of a delight
So much o're-mastring all his might
To that one Sense, made all else thrall,
And so he lost his Clothes, eyes, heart and all.