Classic Poem

Has nature altered for the worse, then?
Our human failings has she learned?
To me the animals, the flowers,
Seem, like the rest, to liars turned.

I doubt the chasteness of the lily.
The butterfly, that coxcomb gay,
Hovers about her with his kisses,
And steals her purity away.

Nay, I am not so very certain
Even of the modest violet.
She thirsts in secret after glory;
Her scent's the lure of a coquette.

And does the nightingale feel truly
What in her song so sweetly thrills?
'Tis only from routine, I fancy,
She rapturously sobs and trills.

Truth from the world is disappearing,
And faith, I fear, has vanished too.
The dogs still smell and fawn about us,
But are, alas! no longer true.