Classic Poem

Matron , this book for you is writ,
Thus far: you ask about the rest?
'Tis meant for men like me — its wit
Perhaps is somewhat scantly dressed.

'Tis stripped quite bare to run its race
And cannot wear a modest guise —
The wrestling-ground and bathing-place
Are sights unmeant for matron's eyes.

The rose's scent, the flowing bowl,
Have wrought on my Terpsichore,
Henceforward she doth scorn control
And recks not that her speech is free.

As when Priapus figure stands
O'er garden-plots his watch to keep,
Prudes veil their face with modest hands
And yet between their fingers peep.

So you had laid aside the book
As dull and wearisome to you;
But now will take another look
Thereon — and read the volume through.