If Perfect Woman were to meet man’s gaze
(saving Your Gracious Presence, Mary Mild),
what would she be like? Why, she would craze
his sense and turn his timid tameness wild.
Her soul more sweetly than Ravel would sing.
Her heart would make all hearts around her leap.
Her mind would know the gist of everything.
Her figure would make supermodels weep.
And Perfect Woman’s walk would win more Wows
than any scaffold ever could rehearse;
if men were short of passion, she would rouse
the dullest celibates to reams of verse.