Classic Poem

For whom — (too happy for the earth or skies!)
Dost thou adorn thee, with such restless care?
Or veil the star-light beauty of thine eyes?
Or bind in fatal wreaths thy golden hair?

Who, — who, of all that thy light footsteps throng,
And strew thy path with incense and sweet song, —
Who will abandon the bright world for thee?
Love, wealth, ambition, ease, — all earth's delights?
Content, like me, to watch (on golden nights
Like this) thy wondrous Beauty, as it grows
Out of day's silent, close, obscure repose,
And swells into a rich and perfumed flower, —
Mingling with thousands such, in masque or bower;
Yet Queen of all the rest, as is the Rose!