Chapter 1815 of 1964 · 58 words · ~1 min read

LXXXV.

Aurora, who looked more on books than faces, Was very young, although so very sage, Admiring more Minerva than the Graces, Especially upon a printed page. But Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces, Has not the natural stays of strict old age; And Socrates, that model of all duty, Owned to a _penchant_, though discreet, for beauty.