Classic Poem

Beauty, thou Sister to Heav'n's glorious Lamp,
Of finer Clay, thou finer stamp!
Thou second Light, by which we better live,
Thou better Sexe's vast prerogative!
Thou greatest gift that Heaven can give!
He who against thee does inveigh,
Never yet knew where Beauty lay,
And does betray
A deplorable want of Sense,
Blindness, or Age, or Impotence:
For Wit was given to no other end,
But Beauty to admire, or to commend;
And for our Sufferings here below
Beauty is all the recompence we know;
'Tis then for such as cannot see,
Nor yet have other sence to friend,
Adored Beauty, thus to slander thee,
And he who calls thee madness let him be,
By his own doom from Beauty doom'd for me.