Classic Poem

In search of wisdom far from wit I fly:
Wit is a harlot, beauteous to the eye,
In whose bewitching arms our early time
We waste, and vigour of our youthful prime:
But when reflexion comes with riper years,
And manhood with a thoughtful brow appears,
We cast the mistress off to take a wife,
And, wed to wisdom, lead a happy life.