Classic Poem

Make no sweet promises of truth:
Fanned by each breath of love is youth;
Let thy sighs speak what words would tell,
In truth sweet girl they do it well:
Then let thy promise be a sigh,
Thy pledge a tear from that bright eye.

Hark! 'tis the trumpets' brazen call,
The roll of drums from far does fall.
I hear the martial tread—farewell;
Thy aspect speaks thy heart full well:
Then let thy promise be a sigh,
Thy pledge a tear from that bright eye.