Is Not Thy Mind A Gentle Mind? Is Not That Heart A Heart Refined? Hast Thou Not Every Gentle Grace, We Love In Woman'S Mind And Face? And, Oh! Art Thou A Shrine For Sin To Hold Her Hateful Worship In? No, No, Be Happy--Dry That Tear-- Though Some Thy Heart Hath Harbored Near, May Now Repay Its Love With Blame; Though Man, Who Ought To Shield Thy Fame, Ungenerous Man, Be First To Shun Thee; Though All The World Look Cold Upon Thee, Yet Shall Thy Pureness Keep Thee Still Unharmed By That Surrounding Chill; Like The Famed Drop, In Crystal Found,[1] Floating, While All Was Frozen Round,-- Unchilled Unchanging Shalt Thou Be, Safe In Thy Own Sweet Purity.