Classic Poem

Now take thy lamp; the oven for plaque doth glow;
Model paillon where irised colors run,
And fix with fire in the pigment dun
The sparkling powder which thy pencils know.

Wilt thou the bay or myrtle wreath bestow
On thinker, hero, prince, or love's dear one?
By what God wilt, on sky unlit by sun,
The glaucous sea-horse or scaled hydra show?

No, Rather let a sapphire orb reveal
From Ophir's warrior race some proud profile—
Thalestris, Bradamant, Penthesilea.

And that her beauty may be still more fell,
Casque her blonde locks with wingèd beast, and be a
Gold gorgon on her bosom's lovely swell.