Classic Poem

O self, as power heat thou canst deny,
Swedge the nearest toy to mold of thought,
As the wandering heavenly seas in liquid light
Veil eternal substance, the glittering rocks
That calm the eye, romantic tears of sparks
From the noxious sky. O art thou not Vikings
That sailed by their embellished quay?
Who gave thee quantity, control, and steers
The might of self that burnished its leer,
Repeats within poetry garlands' praise
And finds e'er love in every phase?
O temper, thou hast in buried passion lent
Self's enjoyed carnal lust; what shall
Youthful charm waste? O self, not thine age, thy ghost.