Woman! When I Behold Thee Flippant, Vain - Poem by John Keats

Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain, 
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies; 
Without that modest softening that enhances 
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain 
That its mild light creates to heal again: 

E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances, 
E'en then my soul with exultation dances 
For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain: 
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender, 
Heavens! how desperately do I adore 
Thy winning graces;--to be thy defender 
I hotly burn--to be a Calidore-- 
A very Red Cross Knight--a stout Leander-- 
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore. 

Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair; 
Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast, 
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest 
Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare. 
From such fine pictures, heavens! I cannot dare 
To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd 
They be of what is worthy,--though not drest 
In lovely modesty, and virtues rare. 
Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark; 
These lures I straight forget--e'en ere I dine, 
Or thrice my palate moisten: but when I mark 
Such charms with mild intelligences shine, 
My ear is open like a greedy shark, 
To catch the tunings of a voice divine. 

Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being? 
Who can forget her half retiring sweets? 
God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats 
For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing, 
Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing, 
Will never give him pinions, who intreats 
Such innocence to ruin,--who vilely cheats 
A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing 
One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear 
A lay that once I saw her hand awake, 
Her form seems floating palpable, and near; 
Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take 
A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, 
And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.