The eyes of women, those star-tabernacles where
Love keeps his old and holy things, inspired
With beauty and the reverence that leads
Men to perfection.
by Ellis Parker ButlerWhen Love and I drew softly nigh
And gazed in modest Chloe’s eye
We saw reflected there in part
The lovely mansion of her heart,
A sight so fair that, quite bereft
Of sense and shame, we had but left