Classic Poem

When you, my Lydia, praise the charms
Of Telephus, and mark with pride
His rosy neck and waxen arms,
My bitterness I cannot hide.
My color, like the restless tide,
Rises in sudden wrath—and oh,
The jealous tears of love denied
My agonizing torments show.

Nor can I see without a tear
Your shoulders, scarred in Love's fierce play;
Nor look upon those lips for fear
He, in his brutal passion, may
Have marred the smile outshining day.
Your heart he rudely set astir,
And stole the best of life away
From me, whose earth and sky you were.

Oh leave him; you will never find
A lasting love in passion's rage.
Love should be gentle, tender, kind;
Love should give comfort, and assuage
The storms and ravages of age.
Such love is mine, that lives to be
Written in glory on the page
Whose words reflect eternity.