``We shall be friends. How friends? You must know me first. <br />What? Like the Pont Neuf? Should you wish it? Well, <br />None ever yet repented it who durst. <br />Oh! you shall know me as I dare not tell. <br />You said I was not pretty. 'Tis the paint <br />That ruins the complexion and the hours <br />Spent at the footlights. These would rob a saint, <br />Much more a sinner, of her natural powers. <br />Voilà la casse du métier! Then, this scar, <br />Some praise it as a beauty. They are fools. <br />At best it but an honour is of war, <br />And beauty is not measured by foot--rules. <br />So you forgive it me, what need we care? <br />Fair faces are but signs of things more fair.''<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xxxix/
