How thought you that this thing could captivate?
     What are those graces that could make her dear,
     Who is not worth the notice of a sneer,
To rouse the vapid devil of her hate?
A speech conventional, so void of weight,
     That after it has buzzed about one's ear,
     'Twere rich refreshment for a week to hear
The dentist babble or the barber prate;

A hand displayed with many a little art;
     An eye that glances on her neighbor's dress;
         A foot too often shown for my regard;
An angel's form — a waiting-woman's heart;
     A perfect-featured face, expressionless,
         Insipid, as the Queen upon a card.