Chapter XCVI

Since on thy form hath beauty laid its hand,
And set its snare for thee and me likewise,
Yet taught thee the Soul’s beauty to despise;
And given thee no power to understand
The reason or the influence that planned
The depth of life, yet still to temporize;
How is such wanton thought to harmonize
With love’s fierce fire by my strong passion fanned?
O! Waste not then thy beauty in its youth;
But turn it to account, lest thine own end
Shall find thee, left without an hair or tooth,
All stripped of nature’s charm, which now may lend
Its power, for thee to reproduce the truth
Of that same beauty thou wouldst lightly spend.