Classic Poem

When my Clorinda walks in white
Unto her Confirmation Rite,
What sinless dove can show to heaven
A purer sight?

Beneath a lawn, translucent, crown
Her lovely curls conceal their brown;
Her wanton eyes are fastened, even,
Demurely down.

And that delicious mouth of rose
No words, no smile, may discompose:
All of her feels the approaching awe,
And silent grows.

Come, then, Thou noiseless Spirit, and rest
Here, where she waits Thee for her Guest:
Pass not, but sweetly onward draw,
Till heaven's possessed!