Classic Poem

O! thou, sweet maid, whom all my thoughts employ,
Whose frown is torment, and whose smile is joy!
Whose beauteous image, ever in my sight,
Charms me by day, and fills my dreams by night;
How could thy breast, where nicest feelings reign,
Consent to agonize my heart with pain?
A heart that only beats with love of you,
And boasts no other worth than being true!
The sweet permission which your lips bestow'd,
Cheer'd all my thoughts, and in my bosom glow'd;
Judge then what agony my heart must feel,
When you, in coldest words, the boon repeal;
Dash the fond hopes aspiring love had form'd,
And chill that breast your kind indulgence warm'd!
When these reflections cloud my troubled mind,
A Cherub whispers, Laura still is kind —
Oh! may the soothing dream prophetic prove,
Nor she reject the homage of my love!
That love that burns with pure, and lasting fires,
Which beauty kindled, but which worth inspires.