Classic Poem

Vain Love! thy Power I defie!
With all thy strong Artillery
Of moving Accents, dying Eyes;
Those boasted Weapons I despise:
Nor can I foolishly believe
Thou'rt able or to please or grieve!
Like Lovers Men, thy Pow'r adore,
And worship what they made before;
And such their arbitrary Sway,
That what they dream, we must obey.
(For Poets are not counted Free,
Until they've paid some Lines to thee.)
But Vain Chimera of the Brain!
Whose Pow'r we by Tradition feign;
Behold one to the Muses vow'd,
Who never at thy Altar bow'd.