Sometimes a woman is so beautiful, it makes you feel lightheaded. (Then again, maybe that’s just me.)

Falling ‘bout her shoulders round,
Like her skin as soft as down,
Play wanton curls of chestnut brown.
And in a blast of thin, thin air
(That seems to chase her everywhere),
Some helices of tress doth find,
The parting of her lips divine,
Subjecting me to dizzied crown.