Watching someone dress,
Especially a woman,
Is like seeing something,
On account of the hidden,
Which we sometimes call,
A sense of the truth,
Which he may find in him,
Only to deny the female vanity,
With a reasoning of its temporal,
And to deny it in himself,
That it is less than beauty.
In such a state of division,
A person would offer to the ideal,
To assay the sense of the true,
For it to say what it is,
When it might be or been.
Such a presumption is useful,
In all situations of fair or foul,
For all things that fall or rise,
Gravitate to the ideal.
To do something unknowingly,
Is innocence and not a wrong,
But to look back with a view,
That claims to have known, is.
Hence, to know that you could,
May be much more important,
Than to be deluded that you did.
Its faith are in the answers you give,
To the father in Rome. To confess.
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