Classic Poem

A better lot is thine fair maid
A happier lot is thine
And who would weep in dungeon shade
Whom fate had marked for Mine
Come do not pine
But fly to arms that open to receive
Thy youthful form divine
Clasped to this heart of fire thoul't never grieve
No thou shalt shine
Happy as houris fair — that braid their hair
Glorious in Eden's bowers
Where noxious flowers
With fragrant reptiles twine
But thou my blooming gem wilt far out-flourish them
My radiant Caroline!