Classic Poem

I.

The Sun was sunk beneath the Hill,
The Western Clouds were edg'd with Gold,
The Sky was clear, the Winds were still;
The Flocks were penn'd within the Fold,
When from the Silence of the Grove
Poor Damon thus despair'd of love;

II.

Who seeks to pluck the fragrant Rose
From the bare Rock, or oozy Beach;
Who, from each barren Weed that grows,
Expects the Grape and blushing Peach;
With equal Faith may hope to find
The Truth of Love in Womankind.

III.

I have no Flocks, nor Fleecy care,
No Fields that shine with golden Grain,
Nor Meadows green, nor Gardens fair,
Of Virgins venal Hearts to gain;
Then all in vain my Sighs must prove,
For I, alas! am nought but Love.

IV.

How wretched is the faithful Youth,
Since Women's Hearts are bought and sold;
They ask not Vows of sacred Truth,
Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for Gold.
Gold can the Frowns of Scorn remove;
But I, alas! am nought but Love.

V.

To buy the Gems of India 's Coast,
What Wealth, what Riches can suffice?
But all their Fire can never boast
The living Lustre of her Eyes:
For there the World too cheap would prove,
But I, alas! am nought but Love.

VI.

Oh, Sylvia , since nor Gems, nor Oar,
Can with thy brighter Charms compare,
Consider, that I proffer more,
(More seldom found) a Heart sincere.
Let Treasure meaner Beauties move;
Who pays thy Worth, must pay with Love.