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...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: FLETCHER MCGEE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE IMPOSSIBLE INDISPENSIBILITY OF THE ARS POETICA by HAYDEN CARRUTH SMALL COUNTRIES by JAMES GALVIN THE STORY OF THE END OF THE STORY by JAMES GALVIN EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR |