Classic Poem

Marie . Thou art ill to please. Come! Sketch me
The paragon might match thee.
Anne . By my wit
I'll find out if she love. [ Aside .] Then, first, of course,
I'd have him young; in nature grand but tender;
In mien like Mars, when, past the strife of Gods,
Venus' soft hands remove his unlaced helm;
As Saturn, sage; as Bacchus, brimmed with life;
And bland as Mercury.
Maria . Well! aught beside!
Anne . I'd have him famed in tourney and in war of life
As lavish as of love.
Marie . Lavish of life!
The panther is so when he gnaws the javelin,
The wild boar when he rushes on the spear.
No; he who loves his being, in whose eyes
The world is beautiful, who clings to life,
And then for justice, freedom — for the wronged
And helpless — if need be — adventures it,
Yea, loses it, contented — he's the hero!
The man's not brave who never feared to die!