Classic Poem

Who see young Phaebe , own her fair,
And read Good-humour in her Air;
Majestic Height, each blooming Grace,
Enhance the Beauties of her Face.
Her Smiles bespeak the Soul within,
As free from the minutest Sin,
As infant Babe, at Mother's Breast,
Or those who're number'd 'mongst the Blest.
Each Glance of the angelic Maid,
In softest Innocence array'd;
Conveys a Pleasure so elate,
We think, we Heav'n contemplate.
Believe not that I flatter can,
For I, fair Nymph, am not a Man;
One of thy Sex, not envious form'd,
Now boasts she's with thy Beauties charm'd;
Nor ever wonder, if you gain
The fond Addresses of each Swain;
For he who can unmoved see
Those Charms which have attracted me,
Must want a Sense, or Stoic be.