Classic Poem

O Spotless Paper, fair and white!
On whom by Force, constrain'd I write,
How cruel am I to destroy,
Thy Purity to please a Boy?
Ungrateful I, thus to abuse
The fairest Servant of the Muse.
Dear Friend, to whom I oft impart,
The choicest Secrets of my Heart;
Ah, what Atonement can be made
For spotless Innocence betray'd?
How fair, how lovely didst thou shew,
Like lilly'd Banks, or falling Snow!
But now, alas, become my Prey,
No Floods can wash thy Stains away.
Yet this small Comfort I can give,
That which destroy'd, shall make thee live.