Classic Poem

There! I have lock'd the door
'Gainst every senseless bore!
O! 'tis a blessing to retire,
And, drawing near my cheerful fire,
To feel I am alone —
Responsible to none —
My cares behind me thrown —
Hence! vanish every one!
Now for a cozy time with my sweet Muse!
Come, lady, wake! this is no time to snooze;
When we're alone we've not an hour to lose,
We cannot always thus ourselves amuse.

I've laid my trappings by;
For now no envious eye
Looks on, my dress to criticise,
With strictures aye more nice than wise.
Clad in a flowing gown,
My hair I've taken down,
And, o'er my shoulders thrown,
It seeks my loosen'd zone;
Thus, free from all undue restraint, we sit,
My darling Muse and I, to try our wit,
While, author-like, our learned brows we knit,
And coax our brains bright sparkles to emit.

'Tis true, the silent night
Has darken'd round us quite;
But 'tis the time we love the best,
When earthly things are all at rest,
And sweet the hours glide
Down time's fast flowing tide,
Nor daylight's pomp, nor pride,
Invades our fireside;
And should, perchance, my fickle Muse be shy,
And choose to tarry in her native sky,
Why, even then, I'll not to others fly;
I think myself the best of company.

But come, consenting Muse!
We'll now a subject choose
From things below, or things above;
I have it then, it shall be — Love !
Which has its home, you know,
In earth and heaven too;
So, with no more ado,
I'll sing of love to you: —

SONG

Love is a tyrant, with a silken chain —
What! pouting, Miss? you toss your head in vain;
You know full well I've reason to complain,
Love serves me many a trick — Let's try again.

But not of Love I'll sing,
Who's ever on the wing,
And will not stay a moment more
Than he's caress'd, and fondled o'er;
I'll choose some nobler theme,
Commanding more esteem;
Come, come, how dull you seem!
Rouse up, you surely dream!
I've rack'd my brains until they fairly ache;
Come, help me now, sweet Muse, for pity's sake;
You know I can't a single couplet make
Worth any thing, till you my genius wake.

What! art thou drowsy still?
Come now, I'll take it ill,
If, at my need, you serve me so;
O! surely you don't mean to go!
Fold up your tiny wing,
You darling little thing!
Forget the tyrant king,
And hear me while I sing: —

SONG

Sweet Poetry! thine influence o'er me shed,
For thou canst charm when other charms have fled;
O! now you smile, and raise your lovely head;
Well, kiss me, dear! make friends; I'll go to bed.