Classic Poem

“A TEMPLE to Friendship,” said Laura, enchanted,
—“I'll build in this garden,—the thought is divine!”
Her temple was built, and she now only wanted
—An image of Friendship to place on the shrine.
She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her
—A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent;
But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer
—Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant.

“O never,” she cried, “could I think of enshrining
—An image whose looks are so joyless and dim:—
But yon little god, upon roses reclining,
—We'll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him.”
So the bargain was struck. With the little god laden
—She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove:
“Farewell,” said the sculptor, “you're not the first maiden
—Who came but for Friendship and took away Love!”