Classic Poem

Let others praise the hue
That mantles on thy face,
Thine eyes of heav'nly blue,
And mien of faultless grace:
These charms I freely own,
But still a higher find;
'Twill last when beauty's flown —
Thy matchless charm of mind!

The damp of years may quench
The light that's in thine eye;
Time's icy touch may blanch
Thy cheek's vermilion die;
Thy form may lose its grace;
Thy voice its sweet control;
But naught can e'er efface
The beauties of thy soul.

Oh! beauty's but a flower
That blooms in summer's ray;
When pours the wintry shower
Its charms will fade away:
The mind's a sweet perfume
That winter cannot chill;
The flow'r may lose its bloom,
But fragrance haunts it still.