Classic Poem

Why check youth's ardour with thy dull advice,
And teach that love is labour thrown away?
Thou shiverst there amid the Winter's ice
And speakst, contemptuous, of Golden May.

Time was when thou didst storm the maidens' charms,—
A hero of the waltzing crowd, forsooth—
Carried a heaven-born burden in thine arms,
And sippedst nectar from the lips of youth.

If at that moment this terrestrial ball
From its accustomed axis had been thrown,
'Tis likely thou wouldst ne'er have heard it fall,
Absorbed in Julia's blandishments alone.

Look back, then, kindly on that happy state:
Even Philosophy will falter when
The ageing pulses in their course abate:—
Immortals never yet were born of men!

'Tis well when wisdom, clarified by years,
Infusions of some warm young blood receives.
Leave it to denizens of higher spheres
T' accomplish that which mortal ne'er achieves.

And yet my earthly counsellor delights
My heaven-begotten spirit to enchain.
He will not let me rise to Angel heights,
Let me as man, then, follow in his train.