Classic Poem

Sweet witch, whose form and face do here
Make neighbouring loveliness appear
A thing most faulty, a thing most flaw'd,
Though once becrowned with fame and laud:
The mighty victor's victress, thou
Hast conquered many heroes now,
And still triumphant, thou dost live
The great charm'd life that Art can give —
Thy frailties past — thy beauty alone
Less fragile than yon column'd stone.