Classic Poem

The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church;
A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch.
" Happy be! for fair are ye! " the gentle singer told them,
But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them.
" Vanity, oh, vanity!
Young maids, beware of vanity! "
Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee,
Half parson-like, half soldierly.

The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes,
Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes;
And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass,
They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass.
All because the buff-coat Bee
Lectured them so solemnly: —
" Vanity, oh, vanity!
Young maids, beware of vanity! "