Were you to cross the world, my dear,

All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise.(For Heaven’s sake, stop worrying that shoe!)You look about, and all you see is fair;This mighty globe was made for you alone.Of all the thunderous ages, you’re the heir.(Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!)A skeptic world you face with steady gaze;High in young pride you hold your noble…

With pretty lamps to quench the gloomAnd mottoes on the wall.There all the things are waxen neatAnd set in decorous lines;And there are posies, round and sweet,And little, straightened vines.Her mind lives tidily, apartFrom cold and noise and pain,And bolts the door against her heart,Out wailing in the rain.

‘Aha, my little dear,’ I say,‘Your clan will pay me back one day.’

I’d rather have him play a fiddleThan rise and bow and speak an idyll.

She spent in amorous dalliance(They do those things so well in France).

Keep your pretty words serene;Never murmur what you mean.Show yourself, by word and look,Swift and shallow as a brook.Be as cool and quick to goAs a drop of April snow;Be as delicate and gayAs a cherry flower in May.Lady, lady, never speakOf the tears that burn your cheek-She will never win him, whoseWords had shown…