As clouds from yonder sun receive
      A deep and mellow die,
    Which scarce the shade of coming eve
      Can banish from the sky,
    Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
      Their own pure joy impart;
    Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
      That lightens o’er the heart.

      Hebrew Melodies.

    I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath,
    Are timidly vindictive to a pitch
    Of perseverance, which I would not copy.

      Sardanapalus, A. 2.

    She was pensive more than melancholy,
    And serious more than pensive, and serene,
    It may be, more than either ... 
    The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly
    Unconscious, albeit turn’d of quick seventeen,
    That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall;
    She never thought about herself at all.

      Don Juan, Canto 6.
      

    A learned lady, famed
      For every branch of every science known—­
    In every Christian language ever named,
      With virtues equall’d by her wit alone. 
    She made the cleverest people quite ashamed,
      And even the good with inward envy groan,
    Finding themselves so very much exceeded
    In their own way by all the things that she did.

Don Juan, Canto 1.

’Tis pity learned virgins ever wed
With persons of no sort of education,
Or gentlemen who, though well-born and bred,
Grow tired of scientific conversation: 
* * * * *
Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck’d you all?

Don Juan, Canto 1.

What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger
Is woman? what a whirlwind is her head,
And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger
Is all the rest about her! whether wed,
Or widow, maid, or mother, she can change her
Mind like the wind; whatever she has said
Or done, is light to what she’ll say or do;—­
The oldest thing on record, and yet new!

Don Juan, Canto 9.

Round her she made an atmosphere of life,
The very air seem’d lighter from her eyes,
They were so soft and beautiful, and rife
With all we can imagine of the skies;—­
* * * * *
Her overpowering presence made you feel,
It would not be idolatry to kneel.

Don Juan, Canto 3.

Through her eye the Immortal shone;
* * * * *
Her eyes’ dark charm ’twere vain to tell,
But gaze on that of the gazelle,
It will assist thy fancy well;
As large, as languishingly dark,
But soul beamed forth in every spark
That darted from beneath the lid,
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid,
Yea, soul!

The Giaour.

          So—­this feminine farewell
    Ends as such partings end, in no departure.