| |
| GREAT passions I awake that must | |
| Bow any woman to the dust | |
| With fear lest she should fail to rise | |
| As high as those enamoured eyes. | |
| |
| Now for these flying days and sweet | 5 |
| I sit in Beauty’s Mercy-Seat. | |
| My smiles, my favours I award, | |
| Since I am beautiful, adored. | |
| |
| They praise my cheeks, my lips, my eyes, | |
| With Love’s most exquisite flatteries, | 10 |
| Covet my hands that they may kiss | |
| And to their ardent bosoms press. | |
| |
| My foot upon the nursery stair | |
| Makes them a music rich and rare; | |
| My skirt that rustles as I come | 15 |
| For very rapture strikes them dumb. | |
| |
| What jealousies of word and glance! | |
| The light of my poor countenance | |
| Lights up their world that else were drear. | |
| “But you are lovely, mother dear!” | 20 |
| |
| I go not to my grave but I | |
| Know Beauty’s full supremacy: | |
| Like Cleopatra’s self, I prove | |
| The very heights and depths of Love. | |
| |
| So to be loved, so to be wooed, | 25 |
| Oh, more than mortal woman should! | |
| What if she fail or fall behind! | |
| Lord, make me worthy, keep them blind! | |
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