XCVI
Reading edition
SINCE on thy form hath beauty laid its hand, And set its snare for thee and me likewise, Yet taught thee the Soul’s beauty to despise; And given thee no power to understand The reason or the influence that planned The depth of life, yet still to temporize; How is such wanton thought to harmonize With love’s fierce fire by my strong passion fanned? O! Waste not then thy beauty in its youth; But turn it to account, lest thine own end Shall find thee, left without an hair or tooth, All stripped of nature’s charm, which now may lend Its power, for thee to reproduce the truth Of that same beauty thou wouldst lightly spend.