Victor Hugo.
A PIN.
Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good,
But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion could.
The little chills run up and down my spine whene’er we meet,
Though she seems a gentle creature, and she’s very trim and neat.
And she has a thousand virtues, and not one acknowledged sin,
But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin.