I did not blinded with the Muse, my dear: <br />She'll not be called the beauty, charming heart, <br />And throngs of youths, when sought her passing here, <br />As crazy lovers, will not run behind. <br />She has not any wish or gift to raise desires <br />By plays of eyes, by elegant attires, <br />Or by the clever and sarcastic speech; <br />But, the high world could sometimes be bewitched <br />By singularity of whole her expression, <br />By simple structure of her quiet phrase; <br />And, rather than with biting alienation, <br />It'll honour her with the negligent praise.<br /><br />Yevgeny Abramovich Baratynsky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/muse-36/
