Classic Poem

Bring, bring, to deck my brow, ye sylvan girls,
A roseate wreath—nor for my waving hair
The costly band of studded gems prepare,
Of sparkling chrysolite, or orient pearls!
Love o'er my head his canopy unfurls,
His purple pinions fan the whispering air;
Mocking the golden sandal, rich and rare,
Beneath my feet the fragrant woodbine curls.
Bring the thin robe, to fold about my breast,
White as the downy swan; while round my waist
Let leaves of glossy myrtle bind the vest,
Not idly gay, but elegantly chaste!
Love scorns the nymph in wanton trappings dressed;
And charms the most concealed, are doubly graced.