"I doubt it,—for I hold as dust
Charms many praise beyond all measure—
While gems they treat as lightly, must
Combine to form my chosen treasure."
"Will this do?"—"No;—that hair of gold,
That brow of snow, that eye of splendour,
Cannot redeem the mien so cold,
The air so stiff, so quite un-tender."
"This then?"—"Far worse! Can lips like these
Thus smile as though they asked the kiss?—