Thomas Brown (philosopher)

"Ye watchful sprites, who make e'en man your care, And sure more gladly hover o'er the fair, Who grave on adamant all changeless things, The smiles of courtiers and the frowns of kings! Say to what softer texture ye impart The quick resolves of woman's trusting heart; Joys of a moment, wishes of an hour, The short eternity of Passion's power, Breathed in vain oaths that pledge with generous zeal E'en more of fondness than they e'er shall feel, Light fleeting vows, that never reach above, And all the guileless changefulness of love! Is summer's leaf the record? Does it last Till withering autumn blot it with his blast? Or, frailer still, to fade ere ocean's ebb,— Graved on some filmy insect's thinnest web, Some day-fly's wing that dies and ne'er has slept: Lives the light vow scarce longer than 'tis kept? Ah, call not perfidy her fickle choice! Ah, find not falsehood in an angel's voice! True to one word, and constant to one aim, Let man's hard soul be stubborn as his frame; But leave sweet woman's form and mind at will To bend and vary and be graceful still."