I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to
Your person fair, and feel a certain
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or
My scorn with pity, — let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient
For conversation when we meet again.
