Classic Poem

I have consider'd it; and find
A longer stay
Is but excus'd neglect. To mind
One path, and stray
Into another, or to none,
Cannot be love;
When shal that traveller come home,
That will not move?
If thou wouldst thither, linger not,
Catch at the place,
Tell youth, and beauty they must rot,
They'r but a Case ;
Loose, parcell'd hearts will freeze: The Sun
With scatter'd locks
Scarce warms, but by contraction
Can heat rocks;
Call in thy Powers ; run, and reach
Home with the light,
Be there, before the shadows stretch,
And Span up night;
Follow the Cry no more; there is
An ancient way
All strewed with flowres, and happiness
And fresh as May ;
There turn, and turn no more; Let wits,
Smile at fair eies,
Or lips; But who there weeping sits,
Hath got the Prize