Classic Poem

You take a town you cannot keep;
— And, forced in turn to fly,
O'er ruins you have made shall leap
— Your deadliest enemy!
Her love is yours — and be it so —
But can you keep it? No, no, no!

Upon her brow we gazed with awe,
— And loved, and wished to love, in vain
But when the snow begins to thaw
— We shun with scorn the miry plain.
Women with grace may yield: but she
Appeared some Virgin Deity.

Bright was her soul as Dian's crest
— Whitening on Vesta's fane its sheen:
Cold looked she as the waveless breast
— Of some stone Dian at thirteen.
Men loved: but hope they deemed to be
A sweet Impossibility!