Classic Poem

Fool, why dost wonder that thou art
A statue turn'd, as if a dart
Transpierc'd thy brest when thou dost her behold?
When yet before thou seest her face,
Thou dost believe with feeling grace,
Thou canst the story of thy Love unfold.
Alas, bold wits that great appear,
And can inchant each Vulgar ear,
Blush when their tale to Princes must be told.

See the Roses being blown,
Shed their leaves and fall alone,
As shamed by a purer red of hers.
See the Clowds that cast their snow,
Which melts as soon as 'tis below,
When but a whiter white of her appears.
See the Silk-worme how she weaves
Her self to death among her leaves,
As broke with envy of her finer hairs.

See the Sun that guides the day,
Yet every Evening steals away,
And comes next morning blushing at his rise:
Nor is it for the sad mishap,
That he must leave his Thetis lap,
But that he is out-shin'd by her fair eyes.
If then the Creatures in their pride
Withdraw themselves, let wonder slide
Each high Aspect the Senses stupifies.