“My love for that young widow’s not the kind
That can’t perceive defects; no, i’m not blind.
I see her faults, despite my ardent love,
And all I see I fervently reprove.
And yet i’m weak; for all her falsity,
That woman knows the art of pleasing me,
And though I never cease complaining of her,
I swear I cannot manage not to love her.
Her charm outweighs her faults; I can but aim
To cleanse her spirit in my love’s pure flame.”
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