You women lay stress on your fine perception, Your intuitions are prated about; You claim an occult sort of conception Of matters which men must reason out. So then, of course, when you asked me kindly “To call again soon,” you read my heart. I cannot believe you were acting blindly; You saw my passion for you from the start. You are one of those women who charm without trying; The clay you are made of is magnet ore, And I am the steel; yet, there’s no denying You led me to loving you more and more. You are fanning a flame that may burn too brightly, Oft easily kindled, but hard to put out; I am not a man to be played with lightly, To come at a gesture and go at a pout. A brute you call me, a creature inhuman; You say I insult you, and bid me go. And you? Oh, you are a saintly woman, With thoughts as pure as the drifted snow. Pah! you are but one of a thousand beauties Who think they are living exemplary lives. They break no commandments, and do all their duties As Christian women and spotless wives. But with drooping of lids, and lifting of faces, And baring of shoulders, and well-timed sighs, And the devil knows what other subtle graces, You are mental wantons, who sin with the eyes. You lure love to wake, yet bid it keep under, You tempt us to fall, but bid reason control; And then you are full of an outraged wonder When we get to wanting you, body and soul. Why, look at yourself! You were no stranger To the fact that my heart was already on fire. When you asked me to call you knew my danger, Yet here you are, dressed in the gown I admire; For half of the evil on earth is invented By vain, pretty women with nothing to do But to keep themselves manicured, powdered and scented, And seek for sensations amusing and new. But when I play at love at a lady’s commanding, I always am certain to win one game; So there--there--there! I will leave my branding On the lips that are free now to cry “Shame, shame!” You hate me? Quite likely! It does not surprise me, Brute force? I confess it; _but still you were kissed_; And one thing is certain--you cannot despise me For having been played with, controlled, and dismissed. And the next time you see that a man is attracted By the beauty and graces that are not for him, Don’t lead him on to be half distracted; Keep out of deep waters although you can swim. For when he is caught in the whirlpool of passion, Where many bold swimmers are seen to drown, A man will reach out and, in desperate fashion, Will drag whoever is nearest him down.