Classic Poem

I ask thee, whence those ashes were
Which shrine themselves in plaits of hair?
Unknown to me; sure, each morn, dies
A phoenix for a sacrifice.

I ask, whence are those airs that fly
From birds in sweetest harmony?
Unknown to me; but sure the choice
Of accents echoed from her voice.

I ask thee, whence those active fires
Take light, which glide through burnished air?
Unknown to me; unless there flies
A flash of lightning from her eyes.

I ask thee, whence those ruddy blooms
Pierce on her cheeks on scarlet gowns?
Unknown to me; sure that which flies
From fading roses her cheek dyes.

I 'll ask thee of the lily, whence
It gained that type of innocence?
Unknown to me; sure Nature's deck
Was ravished from her snowy neck.

I ask thee, whence those ashes were
Which shrine themselves in plaits of hair?
Unknown to me; sure, each morn, dies
A phoenix for a sacrifice.

I ask, whence are those airs that fly
From birds in sweetest harmony?
Unknown to me; but sure the choice
Of accents echoed from her voice.

I ask thee, whence those active fires
Take light, which glide through burnished air?
Unknown to me; unless there flies
A flash of lightning from her eyes.

I ask thee, whence those ruddy blooms
Pierce on her cheeks on scarlet gowns?
Unknown to me; sure that which flies
From fading roses her cheek dyes.

I 'll ask thee of the lily, whence
It gained that type of innocence?
Unknown to me; sure Nature's deck
Was ravished from her snowy neck.