Classic Poem

The maiden may prize her liquid eyes,
Her charms may be called divine;
But beauty may be too tender for me,
When it runs in the melting line.

Let others advance to the bounding dance
With the girl of their adoration,
And together enjoy, without alloy,
The pleasures of perspiration.

If I may gaze on the sweltering maze,
Like a cool and dignified Turk,
Be it my delight to enjoy the sight,
While others perform the work.

But ask me, for pleasure ,
To dance you a measure,
When crowded together,
In hot summer weather,
On the sultriest evenings of June or July? —
Not I!