Clarissa, 4

Go not through the naughty quarters
Where the pretty eyes are living;
Ah, they fain would spare their lightnings
With a semblance of forgiving.

From the high bow-window looking
In a loving way they greet thee,
Smiling kindly (death and devil!)
Sisterlike their glances meet thee.

But thou’rt on thy way already,
And in vain is all thy striving;
Thou wilt have a very breastful
Of distress, when home arriving.