Tear not thy plumage off, it can not be replaced;
Disfigure not thy face in wantonness, O fair one! That face which is bright as the forenoon sun— To disfigure it were a grievous sin. ‘Twere paganism to mar such a face as thine! The moon itself would weep to lose sight of it! Knowest thou not the beauty of thine own face? Quit this temper that leads thee to war with thyself! It is the claws of thine own foolish thoughts That in spite wound the face of thy quiet soul. Know such thoughts to be claws fraught with poison. Which score deep wounds on the face of thy soul.