Classic Poem

That frantic error I adore,
And am confirmed the earth turns round,
Now satisfièd o'er and o'er,
As rolling waves so flows the ground,
And as her neighbour reels the shore:
Find such a woman says she loves,
She's that fixed heaven which never moves.

In marble, steel, or porphyry,
Who carves of stamps his arms or face,
Looks it by rust or storm must die:
This woman's love no time can rase,
Hardened like ice in the sun's eye,
Or your reflection in a glass,
Which keeps possession though you pass.

We not behold a watch's hand
To stir, nor plants or flowers to grow:
Must we infer that this doth stand,
And therefore that those do not blow?
This she acts calmer: like heaven's brand
The steadfast lightning, slow love's dart,
She kills, but ere we feel the smart.

Oh, she is constant as the wind
That revels in an evening's air!
Certain as ways unto the blind,
More real than her flatteries are,
Gentle as chains that honour bind,
More faithful than an Hebrew Jew,
But as the Devil not half so true.