Classic Poem

The purest soul that e'er was sent
Into a clayey tenement
Informed this dust, but the weak mould
Could the great guest no longer hold;
The substance was too pure, the flame
Too glorious, that thither came:
Ten thousand Cupids brought along
A grace on each wing, that did throng
For place there, till they all oppressed
The seat in which they sought to rest;
So the fair model broke, for want
Of room to lodge th' inhabitant.