Classic Poem

All is not gold that shineth bright in show,
Nor every flower so good, as fair to sight;
The deepest streams, above do calmest flow
And strongest poisons oft the taste delight;
The pleasant bait doth hide the harmful hook,
And false deceit can lend a friendly look.

Love is the gold, whose outward hue doth pass,
Whose first beginnings goodly promise make
Of pleasures fair, and fresh as summer's grass,
Which neither sun can parch, nor wind can shake:
But when the mould should in the fire be tried,
The gold is gone; the dross doth still abide.

Beauty the flower, so fresh, so fair, so gay,
So sweet to smell, so soft to touch and taste,
As seems it should endure, by right for aye,
And never be with any storm defaced;
But when the baleful Southern wind doth blow,
Gone is the glory which it erst did show.

Love is the stream, whose waves so calmly flow,
As might entice men's minds to wade therein;
Love is the poison mixt with sugar so,
As might by outward sweetness liking win:
But as the deep o'erflowing stops thy breath,
So poison once received brings certain death.

Love is the bait whose taste the fish deceives,
And makes them swallow down the choking hook;
Love is the face whose fairness judgment 'reaves,
And makes thee trust a false and feigned look:
But as the hook the foolish fish doth kill,
So flatt'ring looks the lover's life do spill.