I've long been troubled by that old complaint:
That women have no taste for worthy men
Who in their manners seem too-well restrained;
Who rarely flatter, show off, or pretend
To be more taken with them than they are;
Who struggle, ill at ease with social grace;
The shy whose shyness marks them like a scar,
Who seldom sport a ready smiling face.
But is it worse of them to blush for charm
So often false, and hiding bald-faced lust,
Than when I long for a nest in Beauty's arms
To suck of her sweet nectar? It is just,
Perhaps, that should I wish to know these joys,
I must put on the charms of men and boys.
George Chadderdon © 1997