Sonnet Cclxxiv: Poem by George Henry Boker

Such of her beauties as the world may see,
Whose eyes escort her eagerly around,
Lackeying her way with homage too profound
For jealous me, O world, I give to thee!
But seek no more. If other charms there be
Hidden from view; reflect, 'tis holy ground
Your rashness treads; beware the goddess crowned,
And angel-guarded, in her purity
I would not tell the wonder of her breast,
Its warmth, its perfume, nor the mystic dew
Upon her mouth, nor give her limbs to view--
Those taper marvels, fawned on and caressed
By robes they animate to grace confessed--
No, not to save another world like you!