Try to thaw with long, hot kisses those unfeeling eyes so cold.
If she were a marble statue, she would melt with so much love,
On his knees he would entreat her, that stone heart would strive to move;
Mad, with so much bliss all smothered, feeling more than words could form,
More and more he now would love her, in his passion’s wildest storm.
Does she know that she might give thee a whole splendid world, if she
Tried to understand thee better, plunging in thy soul’s deep sea,
She would fill it with a heaven full of morning stars so bright!
With coquettish smile, delighted, and with looks demure, she might
Act as if she understood thee. Highly flattered are they all
The eternal Beauty’s shadows to be on this earthly ball.
Call her flower among the women, she’ll be pleased, but ask her who
Is the one whom she would favour of the three who round her woo,
And who all pretend to love her, thou wilt see that though naïve,
Thy belovèd will at once be practical and positive.
With thy heart and mind perhaps thou art but serving as a screen,
And behind thee she’s attracting some young fop with courtly mien,
While with gallant looks, coquettish, she is seeking but to shine,
Captivating now a dandy, now a lewd old libertine,
There’s no wonder that her spirit should be all a sad confusion,
And an upstart knave impress her like the king of spades, delusion!
And with thy poor spirit’s daemon she’ll feign meekness, like a nun,
While when that young fop appeareth, then at once her heart is won,
And at this fool’s wit and beauty she’ll be fondly marvelling.
O to dream that truth, high spirit, or some other useless thing,
One small jot could change in nature, or of any help might be,
This is the eternal hindrance to the truth’s great victory.
Therefore in woman’s footsteps when thou follow’st full of dreams,
While the golden shield of heaven on the alleys brightly beams,
And the shadows green with laces so mysteriously are girt,
O forget not, thy belovèd hath short wit though long her skirt.
A midsummernight’s dream charms thee, with its beauty, fairylike,
All that is in thy soul only… Ask her what she thinks, belike
She will speak of ribbons, flounces, all about the newest fashion,
While thy heart is throbbing rhythmic, like an ode, with sacred passion,
When thou see’st th’unfeeling marble, without pity’s gentle smile, Ah!
If thou hast a heart and senses, go away, she is Delilah!
