Classic Poem

Young Tyrant of the bow and wings,
Thy altar asks three precious things;
The heart's, the world's most precious three,
Courage, and Time, and Constancy!
And Love must have them all, or none:
By Time he 's wearied, but not won;
He shrinks from Courage hot and high;
He laughs at tedious Constancy;
But all his raptures, tender, true, sublime,
Are given to Courage, Constancy, and Time.