Say not — I love, — when Beauty storms,
And takes perforce thy willing heart;
Her kindling smile each bosom warms,
Her eye is Cupid's bow and dart.
For rosy cheeks and breasts of snow,
And teeth that gleam where red lips be,
Such things will drive men daft, you know,
As long as men can think or see.

But if a passion in thee rise
For one whose outward look is bad,
Then dost thou see with partial eyes;
Then love indeed hath made thee mad.

For scented breath and laughter low,
And thrilling eyes of gray or jet —
All men must yield to these, you know,
As long as suns shall rise and set.