Poems (Holley)/The Coquette
THE COQUETTE.
How can I be to blame? Is it my fault I am fair?I did not fashion my features, Or brush the gold in my hair;Because my eyes are so blue and bright, Must I never look up from the ground,But put out with my eyelids' snow their light, Lest some foolish heart they should wound?
How can I be in fault? I am sure where hearts are so few,It is difficult to discern The diamonds of paste from the true;I thought him like all the rest, Skilful in playing his part;As careful at cards or at chess, As winning a woman's heart.
I am sure it is nothing wrong, Nothing to think of—and yetI know I lured him with glance and song, Into my shining net; Provokingly cold at first he seemed, Like crystal to smiles and sighs,But at last he felt the magic that gleamed In my dreamy violet eyes.
And I led him on and on, Farther, in truth, than I strove,For he frightened me with the earnestness And violence of his love;These calm-eyed men deceive Had I known the man had a heart,I would have paused, I would, I believe, Have acted a different part.
In his royal indignation He uttered some wholesome truth—He almost roused the emotion That died in my innocent youth;Emotion that lived when life was new, Ere that man my pathway crossed,Who played me a game untrue, When I staked all my love, and lost.
Oh for a saintly beauty, What efforts my soul did make;I thought all goodness and purity Were possible for his sake; 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.