Woman! When I Behold Thee Flippant, Vain, Inconstant, Childish, Proud, And Full Of Fancies; Without That Modest Softening That Enhances The Downcast Eye, Repentant Of The Pain That Its Mild Light Creates To Heal Again: E'En Then, Elate, My Spirit Leaps, And Prances, E'En Then My Soul With Exultation Dances For That To Love, So Long, I've Dormant Lain: But When I See Thee Meek, And Kind, And Tender, Heavens! How Desperately Do I Adore Thy Winning Graces; To Be Thy Defender I Hotly Burn To Be A Calidore A Very Red Cross Knight A Stout Leander Might I Be Loved By Thee Like These Of Yore. Light Feet, Dark Violet Eyes, And Parted Hair; Soft Dimpled Hands, White Neck, And Creamy Breast, Are Things On Which The Dazzled Senses Rest Till The Fond, Fixed Eyes, Forget They Stare. From Such Fine Pictures, Heavens! I Cannot Dare To Turn My Admiration, Though Unpossess'D They Be Of What Is Worthy, Though Not Drest In Lovely Modesty, And Virtues Rare. Yet These I Leave As Thoughtless As A Lark; These Lures I Straight Forget E'En Ere I Dine, Or Thrice My Palate Moisten: But When I Mark Such Charms With Mild Intelligences Shine, My Ear Is Open Like A Greedy Shark, To Catch The Tunings Of A Voice Divine. Ah! Who Can E'Er Forget So Fair A Being? Who Can Forget Her Half Retiring Sweets? God! She Is Like A Milk-White Lamb That Bleats For Man'S Protection. Surely The All-Seeing, Who Joys To See Us With His Gifts Agreeing, Will Never Give Him Pinions, Who Intreats Such Innocence To Ruin, Who Vilely Cheats A Dove-Like Bosom. In Truth There Is No Freeing One'S Thoughts From Such A Beauty; When I Hear A Lay That Once I Saw Her Hand Awake, Her Form Seems Floating Palpable, And Near; Had I E'Er Seen Her From An Arbour Take A Dewy Flower, Oft Would That Hand Appear, And O'Er My Eyes The Trembling Moisture Shake.