Classic Poem

IN THE SAME STYLE. THE AUTHOR SICK .

Yes , fairest proof of Beauty's power,
Dear idol of my panting heart,
Nature points this my fatal hour:
And I have liv'd; and we must part.

While now I take my last adieu,
Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear;
Lest yet my half-clos'd eye may view
On earth an object worth its care.

From Jealousy's tormenting strife
For ever be thy bosom freed:
That nothing may disturb thy life,
Content I hasten to the dead.

Yet when some better-fated youth
Shall with his amorous parley move thee;
Reflect one moment on his truth
Who, dying thus, persists to love thee.