The Protean Maiden

This single girl is two girls:
How strange such things should be!
One noon eclipsed by few girls,
The next no beauty she.

And daily cries the lover,
In voice and feature vext:
“My last impression of her
Is never to be the next!

“She’s plain: I will forget her!
She’s turned to fair. Ah no,
Forget? — not I! I’ll pet her
With kisses swift and slow.”