Classic Poem

Often I leave thee, Love, and wend my way
Among the many strangers on the street,
And as I scan each fair one that I meet,
Their gliding forms, their various features' play,
And charms elusive, to myself I say:
" This lady's smile doth flash out very sweet, "
Or, " There are angel's eyes, " or, " How complete
A charm doth yonder Dian form convey! "

But all these fickle fancies from me flee
When, hasting homeward with the setting sun,
Thy perfect self reminds me that in thee
I hold all beauties since the race begun;
And how much dearer these delights to me
To feel that they are all contained in one!