For worlds, with that proud dignity of heart!
Now never breathed in woman’s breast, I ween.
So poor a spirit, ’neath so bold a mien.
I’ve learned you well—too well—your serpent-smile
Is fond and fair; but cannot “me beguile.”
I’ve seen it called, and on your soft lip worn,
To win a heart those lips had laughed to scorn.
I’ve heard that voice—’tis very sweet, I own,
Almost too much of softness in its tone;
I’ve heard its tender modulations tried,