Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO FANNY (1), by THOMAS MOORE

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TO FANNY (1), by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Never mind how the pedagogue proses
Last Line: My divine little mistress of arts!
Alternate Author Name(s): Little, Thomas
Subject(s): Schools; Students

NEVER mind how the pedagogue proses,
You want not antiquity's stamp;
The lip that such fragrance discloses,
Oh! never should smell of the lamp.

Old Cloe, whose withering kiss
Hath long set the Loves at defiance,
Now, done with the science of bliss,
May take to the blisses of science.

Young Sappho, for want of employments,
Alone o'er her Ovid may melt,
Condemned but to read of enjoyments
Which wiser Corinna had felt.

But for you to be buried in books--
Ah, Fanny, they're pitiful sages,
Who could not in one of your looks
Read more than in millions of pages.

Astronomy finds in those eyes
Better light than she studies above,
And Music would borrow your sighs
As the melody fittest for Love.

In Ethics--'tis you that can check,
In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels;
Oh! show but that mole on your neck,
And 'twill soon put an end to their morals:

Your Arithmetic only can trip
If to count your own charms you endeavour;
And Eloquence glows on your lip
When you swear, that you'll love me for ever.

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance
Of arts is assembled in you;--
A course of more exquisite science
Man never need wish to pursue!

And, oh! --if a Fellow like me
May confer a diploma of hearts,
With my lip thus I seal your degree,
My divine little Mistress of Arts!

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