I’ve had enough of all the wars
Between my Venus and your Mars:
Your scarlet Mars can’t hope to see
My cool orb flaring ardently,
While scant reserve resides in red:
It oughtn’t try to stand in stead
For all my azure inwardness
Of woman-hearted tenderness.
My dear, I’d rather seek and find
The flaming glories of your mind
Than search your crimson spans for cool
And find them wrapped in fever’s rule.
Much better to embrace your hard
Hot reason! There’d be this reward:
My calms could gain a little glow
From all your heat; and you might show
A little mildness, at my touch—
Then, dear, we would not war so much!