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True Woman.
No quaint conceit of speech,
No golden, minted phrase—
Dame Nature needs to teach
To echo Woman's praise;
Pure love and truth unite
To do thee, Woman, right!
She is the faithful mirror
Of thoughts that brightest be—
Of feelings without error,
Of matchless constancie;
When art essays to render
More glorious Heaven's bow—
To paint the virgin splendour
Of fresh-fallen mountain snow—
New fancies will I find,
To laud true Woman's mind.
No words can lovelier make
Virtue's all-lovely name,
