Classic Poem

I love not her, however, fair,
With vanity who fir'd,
Shows in her dress, her words, her air,
The wish to be admir'd.

But her I love, of modest mien,
Who no vain passion knows,
Who never wishes to be seen,
Or seen, with blushes glows.

Not her, who, with obtrusive air,
Courts all who're passing by;
But her, who beauty makes her care,
To please her lover's eye.

In vain she seeks the breast to move,
Who trusts to beauty's art;
Give me, if you would have me love,
A woman with a heart.