"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 unpossessed They be of what is worthy--though not dressed 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 entreats 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." From the opening lines of this poem I gather that Keats, when he wrote it, had never been in love; but that he had a feeling towards pure, sweet-minded, lovely women, which made him, in idea, their champion and votary. Later on, in June 1818, he wrote to Bailey that his love for his brothers had "always stifled the impression that any woman might otherwise have made upon him." And in July of the same year, also to Bailey:--