Nay, bring forth none but daughters: daughters young, <br />The doubles of yourself; with face as fair, <br />Bearing as candid, gait as debonair, <br />And voice as deeply, musically strung: <br />That the less fortunate age, from this age sprung, <br />In those transmitted gleams of what you were, <br />May hear your laughter, gaze on your despair, <br />And all but know the witchery of your tongue. <br />Thus shall the unsteadfast dagger of Macbeth <br />Be nerved by his male spouse; thus Shylock's knife, <br />Glittering to smite, be dulled by Portia's breath; <br />Thus saucy Beatrice be won for life, <br />Juliet in loving warble out her life, <br />And true Ophelia madden unto death.<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-ellen-terry/
