Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

Some Judge Of Authors' Names, Not Works, And Then Nor Praise Nor Blame The Writings, But The Men.

Beauty That Shocks You, Parts That None Will Trust, Wit That Can Creep, And Pride That Licks The Dust.

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

But Just Disease To Luxury Succeeds, And Ev'ry Death Its Own Avenger Breeds.

Woman's At Best A Contradiction Still.