From "Vashti"

What thing shall be held up to woman's beauty?

Where are the bounds of it? Yea, what is all

The world, but an awning scaffolded amid

The waste perilous Eternity, to lodge

This Heaven-wander'd princess, woman's beauty?

The East and West kneel down to thee, the North

And South; and all for thee their shoulders bear

The load of fourfold space. As yellow morn

Runs on the slippery waves of the spread sea,

Thy feet are on the griefs and joys of men

That sheen to be thy causey. Out of tears

Indeed, and blitheness, murder and lust and love,

Whatever has been passionate in clay,

Thy flesh was tempered. Behold in thy body

The yearnings of all men measured and told,

Insatiate endless agonies of desire

Given thy flesh, the meaning of thy shape!