Her mind's a garden, where do grow
Sweet thoughts like posies in a row;

Her soul is as some lucent star,
That shines upon us from afar;

Her heart's an ocean, wide and deep,
Where swirling waves of passion sweep,

Aye, deeper than the deepest sea,
And wide as woman's mystery:

O man, the mariner, beware—
Yet will I chance a shipwreck there.