THE COQUETTE.
51
The world seemed born anew, my life Such holy meaning wore,I fancy so fair and fond a dream Never fell into ruins before.
He toyed with my fresh affection As he breathed the country air.To refresh him after a season Of fashion, and falsehood, and glare;Had he not slain my tenderness, Had my life been more sweet,I might have known nobler happiness Than to humble men to my feet.
But now I love to lure them on, To make them slaves to my gaze,Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot, Like moths to a candle-blaze.I melt most royally time, the pearl, And quaff the cup like a queen,And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl, The woman I might have been.
