To----

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Title:     To----
Author: Lord Byron [More Titles by Byron]

1.

Oh! well I know your subtle Sex,
Frail daughters of the wanton Eve,--
While jealous pangs our Souls perplex,
No passion prompts you to relieve.

2

From Love, or Pity ne'er you fall,
By _you_, no mutual Flame is felt,
"Tis Vanity, which rules you all,
Desire alone which makes you melt.

3

I will not say no _souls_ are yours,
Aye, ye have Souls, and dark ones too,
Souls to contrive those smiling lures,
To snare our simple hearts for you.

4

Yet shall you never bind me fast,
Long to adore such brittle toys,
I'll rove along, from first to last,
And change whene'er my fancy cloys.

5

Oh! I should be a _baby_ fool,
To sigh the dupe of female art--
Woman! perhaps thou hast a _Soul_,
But where have _Demons_ hid thy _Heart_?

January, 1807.

-THE END-
George Gordon Lord Byron's poem: To----

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