“How quickly do our blushes leave the cheek:
How like a withered ghost goes modesty!
I loved him not. The devil played with me,
And still plays on—instructing me to speak
In soft words—sounding truer in a shriek.
Would I had vanished into destiny!
Ah, God! When they pretend that love is free,
The women buy the freedom that they seek.”
“Of Beauty in immortal guise beware!—
For even women’s bodies are of dust.