Classic Poem

Oh , Nymph compos'd! on whose unalter'd brow,
Affliction's furious tempest beats in vain,
If thou hast ever mark'd my secret vow,
Attend, in pity to a Lover's pain!

For she is fickle as the fleeting wind,
Who bids my bosom throb with ceaseless smart;
Yet her transcendant store of charms combin'd,
To cruel bondage captivate my heart.

No other face, alas! to me is fair;
I trace sweet comfort in no other eye;
When absent, I'm the victim of Despair,
And ev'n Suspicion's slave, when she is nigh;

Then ah! at once, this sad suspense remove,
And let her wholly hate — or truly love!