A Pretty Woman

5To think men cannot take you, Sweet,

6 And infold you,

7 Ay, and hold you,

8And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!

9You like us for a glance, you know —

10 For a word's sake

11 Or a sword's sake:

12All's the same, whate'er the chance, you know.

13And in turn we make you ours, we say —

14 You and youth too,

15 Eyes and mouth too,

16All the face composed of flowers, we say.

17All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet —

18 Sing and say for,

19 Watch and pray for,

20Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet!

21But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet,

22 Tho' we prayed you,

23 Paid you, brayed you

24In a mortar — for you could not, Sweet!

25So, we leave the sweet face fondly there,

26 Be its beauty

27 Its sole duty!

28Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!

29And while the face lies quiet there,

30 Who shall wonder

31 That I ponder

32A conclusion? I will try it there.

33As, — why must one, for the love foregone

34 Scout mere liking?

35 Thunder-striking

36Earth, — the heaven, we looked above for, gone!

37Why, with beauty, needs there money be,

38 Love with liking?

39 Crush the fly-king

40In his gauze, because no honey-bee?

41May not liking be so simple-sweet,

42 If love grew there

43 'Twould undo there

44All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet?

45Is the creature too imperfect, say?

46 Would you mend it

47 And so end it?

48Since not all addition perfects aye!

49Or is it of its kind, perhaps,

50 Just perfection —

51 Whence, rejection

52Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps?

53Shall we burn up, tread that face at once

54 Into tinder,

55 And so hinder

56Sparks from kindling all the place at once?

57Or else kiss away one's soul on her?

58 Your love-fancies!

59 — A sick man sees

60Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!

61Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose, —

62 Plucks a mould-flower

63 For his gold flower,

64Uses fine things that efface the rose.

65Rosy rubies make its cup more rose.

66 Precious metals

67 Ape the petals, —

68Last, some old king locks it up, morose!

69Then how grace a rose? I know a way!

70 Leave it, rather.

71 Must you gather?

72Smell, kiss, wear it — at last, throw away.