Classic Poem

No! thou best soul, that e'er this body knew,
Unhappy I may be, but not untrue!
Blest, or unblest, my love can ne'er decay ,
Nor could I, where I could not love, betray .
Cold, and unjust, the shocking caution kills,
And, in one meaning, spots me o'er with ills .
Silent, as sacred lamps , in bury'd urns ,
The conscious flame of lovers inward burns:
Life should be torn, and racks be stretch'd in vain,
And vary'd tortures tire their fruitless pain ,
E're but a thought of mine shou'd do thee wrong ,
Or spread thy beauties on the public tongue .

Yet, thou can'st fear me — oh! be lost the shame ,
Nor heap dishonour on my future name!
Have I been never lov'd? — yet, cruel, tell,
Whom I betray'd to thee , tho' lov'd so well?
Take thy sweet mischiefs back, their charms erase,
Oh! leave me poor , but never think me base .
Not e'en, when death shall veil thy starry eyes,
Shall thy dear letters , from my ashes , rise;
Fix'd to my heart , the grave shall give 'em room
To charm my waking soul , in worlds to come .
While in my verse , with far more faint essay ,
Thy wonders , I to after times convey;
Tell thy vast heav'n of sweets , and sing thy name ,
'Till fir'd by thee , whole kingdoms catch thy flame .