THE FAIR THIEF by CHARLES WYNDHAM

BEFORE the urchin well could go,
She stole the whiteness of the snow;
And more, that whiteness to adorn,
She stole the blushes of the morn;
Stole all the sweetness ether sheds
On primrose buds or violet beds.

Still to reveal her artful wiles
She stole the Graces' silken smiles:
She stole Aurora's balmy breath;
And pilfered orient pearl for teeth:
The cherry, dipped in morning dew,
Gave moisture to her lips, and hue.

These were her infant spoils, a store;
And she in time still pilfered more!
At twelve, she stole from Cyprus' queen
Her air and love-commanding mien;
Stole Juno's dignity; and stole
From Pallas sense to charm the soul.

Apollo's wit was next her prey:
Her next the beam that lights the day;
She sang amazed the Sirens heard;
And to assert their voice appeared:
She played; the Muses from the hill
Wodered who thus had stole their skill.

Great Jove approved her crimes and art;
And, t'other day, she stole my heart!
If lovers, Cupid, are thy care,
Exert thy vengeance on this Fair;
To trial bring her stolen charms,
And let her prison be my arms.

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