Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto 1._


She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose wher'er I turned mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!

_The Giaour._


You know, or ought to know, enough of women,
Since you have studied, them so steadily,
That what they ask in aught that touches on
The heart, is dearer to their feelings or
Their fancy than the whole external world.

_Sardanapalus, A. 4._


Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can wield
To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

_Corsair, Canto 2._