Classic Poem

" HE who fears the trial,
Naught can hope to gain": —
Shall I make denial
Á la Châtelaine?

Come then, Muse , and lend me
All that poets feign:
Let my verse commend me
Á la Châtelaine!

T IME , that rarely lingers, —
T IME , that churl ingrain, —
Kisses courtier fingers
À la Châtelaine;

Leads her by soft places
Free from stone and stain;
Spares his sterner traces
À la Châtelaine!

Ah! benign, caressing,
Still, O T IME , remain;
Send thy chiefest blessing
À la Châtelaine!

Make her sorest troubles
Light as summer rain;
Crosses be but bubbles
À la Châlaine!

Neither mar nor mend her;
Save her toil and pain;
T IME , be always tender
A la Châtelaine!