What is the price of beauty, what the cost,
Unseemly men oft pardoned by the purse—
When love is purchased, is sweet virtue lost,
Does female vanity proud worth enhearse?
How oft upon the street all eyes may see
A flower fair adorning silk lapel,
Yet floret worn by pauper, n’er to be
Lest angels fall from heaven or rise from hell.
Perhaps the glint of gold makes women blind
To all the faults that moneyed men possess,
Or is it merely that pure hearts wax kind
To Midas forms that Venus failed to bless?
For where in love does lucre play a part,
Save bargain blush to paint a paper heart.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
