What is beauty if not a gift divine,

Bestowed by gods to bless the mortal few?

A radiant raiment which soon wears with time,

Ephemeral vestments none may e’re renew;

Diaphanous dress of matchless thread so spun

Whose heavenly weave must heed the bounds of fate,

From regal robe to weathered weed undone—

All colors fade, save hues on Heaven’s gate.

Still true, what woman would not wear that gown

Of gilded grace that Venus can bestow,

So set to dress for but the here and now…

To flit and flirt amidst life’s fleeting show;

Sweet bounty granted—yet what price there paid;

What peerless anguish when sweet aspects fade.