Key

It's small and brass and round;
It hangs from Beauty's neck,
And never makes a sound.

It open's man's walled place
He carefully protects
From harmful unknown face.

With this she eas'ly can
Gain access to that place
And lay out her old plan--

Unpacking all her life
Inside where he now stands
With face deformed with strife.

She'll make herself at home,
Strip down his arms and toys,
And all the while he'll groan.

Though first he is but mad,
Accustomed he'll become
To that that Beauty adds.

But this that Beauty owns
Is hers to do what with
Her nature to her moans.

This trinket that she has,
She'll share or throw away
Or leave to hang just as.

Her access to Man's heart:
She could open and give back
Or ever lock that part.