She has a captain's eye, and stout must be that fortress of the heart in which she finds no place of vantage.

Does thy blood beat fast in youth?
She will outrun it, nor will her kisses tire.

Art thou set toward ambition?
She will unlock thy inner heart, and show thee roads that lead to glory.

Art thou worn and weary?
She has comfort in her breast.

Art thou fallen?
She can lift thee up, and to the illusion of thy sense gild defeat with triumph.