Classic Poem

What man is strong to bind and hold
The eagle in his proud estate,
Or from Love's treacherous fairy-gold
To weave his woof of fate?

Lord Eros is no gentle god,
Nor human folly smiles upon,
His are the scourges and the rod
Without oblivion.

We deemed him but a winsome boy,
Until he clutched us by the throat;
We dallied with him, and the toy
Became a sword that smote.

The Book of Love is closed and sealed
With iron signet, and the night
Has smothered with her agate shield
The torches of delight.