To be looked at and worshipped, but not questioned why.
Should his lips meet your own with an indifferent grace
That hurries the bloom to your averted face,
Though Doubt is a sentinel stationed near by,
Beware of his bayonet—don’t question why.
You may ask if you choose as he moves through the dance,
If ’tis Beauty or Passion that cowers his glance,
But question him not, O! ask him not why
There awoke in his bosom that deep-seated sigh.
Should he turn from the ball-room sometime with disgust