Classic Poem

Poetic Maid! whose sacred hand, perfumes
With sweetest incense the Parnassian shrine,
Rifles, of ancient song, the sickly blooms;
And bids the fading flow'rets, richly shine.

Accept, from one unknown, the votive line,
Line, well-repay'd! if from thy laureate crown,
Thou fling'st one vernal leaf, in pity, down;
Which Pride , may round my youthful temples twine.