Classic Poem

Chloe is false, but the fire in her eyes
Rouses her lovers with thousand sweet delusions;
Cælia is true, and, too true to be wise,
Breaks, like a dream, all their amorous illusions.

Lovers are weak, and they ask not to know
All that lies under the rose-leaves and the laughter;
Wisdom may call, but to pleasure they go,
Cælia they honour, but Chloë they run after.