Classic Poem

You charm'd me not with that fair face,
Though it was all Divine:
To be anothers is the Grace
That makes me wish you mine.
The Gods and Fortune take their part
Who, like young Monarchs, fight;
And boldly dare invade that Heart
Which is another's right.
First mad with hope we undertake
To pull up ev'ry Bar;
But once possessed we faintly make
A dull defensive War.
Now, ev'ry friend is turned a foe,
In hope to get our store:
And passion makes us Cowards grow,
Which made us brave before.