Classic Poem

In women is it Chastity you prize?—
The unapproachable white purities,—
The vestal moon forsworn of celibate skies,
The ice that spurns remote and barren seas?
Can Chastity cool your kisses, slake your sighs?
And when, at last, o'ertaken and embraced,
We give you burning lips, wild words and eyes,
In your arms lying, would you have us chaste?

If it were Chastity filled your treasuries,
Possession would be Prize instead of Prey.
You would be wise and clean, and we should go
Free of your lusts and importunities,
Nor trace the dubious paths we take to-day
From your first, careless footsteps in the snow.