Classic Poem

Alas, poor little maids who droop and pine.
Neither are you allowed to wear Love's crown
Nor drown
Your sorrow in sweet wine.

For ah, one learns to dread the family tongue;
The lashings of an uncle or an aunt,
One can't
Defy, however young.

Yet—there's a certain robber steals away
Your thoughts and busy needles; yes, I find
Your mind
Is not cast down, but gay!

Ah well, we're young, so I have heard, but once—
And Hebrus is a more than lucky man;
He can
Call himself blessed, the dunce.

But wait—Hebrus can hunt; his eye is true;
He rides and runs; he plants a well-aimed blow.
And so
Perhaps you're lucky too!