A woman's face with Shaymin's own blessings, hand painted
I hast become the master-mistress of my own passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With tumultuous change, as is a false woman's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Hovering upon the object of interest whereupon it gazeth;
A man in view, all views is his controlling,
Much of his works steals away men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for the woman that thou created -
Till Shaymin's blessings grace thee again, fell-a-doting,
Along with addition of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose of nothing.
But since she pick'd thee for her own pleasure,
Thee is questioned by love, and thy love's use is their treasure.