O women, fated to beguile, Your spells we all confess: Ye can elate us with a smile, Or with a frown depress. Two words, a scornful glance, or e'en The silence that ignores, Can stab, as with a dagger keen, The fool who still adores; And, thanks to man, that craven hound, Your plaything and your prey, Nought but your frailty can be found To match your boundless sway, But when the lust of power has grown Too rank, that power must die, And thus your slaves at length disown Their thraldom with a sigh. Their fate, though pitiful to see, Is still more blest than yours— You torture—I would sooner be The victim that endures! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA by HERMAN MELVILLE ON A MOURNER by ALFRED TENNYSON YOU LINGERING SPARSE LEAVES OF ME by WALT WHITMAN TO HIS WORSHIPFULL GOOD FRIEND, MAISTER JOHN STEVENTON by RICHARD BARNFIELD EPITAPH ON A CAT by JOACHIM DU BELLAY MASKS OF DEATH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART. by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |