Sonnet Clxx: Poem by George Henry Boker

Yes, I could trust, forever and a day,
Thy constant heart to any worldling's wiles,
Surround thy senses with the lies and guiles
That hiss and gender in the truth's decay.
I know the nature of thy taintless clay,
The mystic candor of thy vestal smiles
Thy soul of fire, consuming what defiles,
Yet, flame-pure, mounting on its heavenly way.
Why should thy breath of precious spice and myrrh,
Devour the sin and garbage of the land,
Serving the purpose of the hangman's brand?
No; let me find some nobler use for her,
Build her a temple, far from public stir,
And by her altar take my public stand.