The light-headed expression on this girl's face embodies the essence of the entity known as "female". Needless to say, it's a little disconcerting that this creature (and creatures like her) is legally entitled to vote.

'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted

Whenever I will look at this photo, I will always and forever wonder in what way these two polar opposites could possibly be related. The woman on the left is the embodiment of femininity, while the one on the right is the embodiment of flippant materialism.

Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time

Normally it is men who are like a fine wine: as they age they become more desirable. This mature wench, however, is an exception and is worthy of being compared to the drink of the Romans.

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice

Yes, this is a rather strange skirt, but it qualifies. Well, what qualifies even more is the legs it is exposing. Good gods! By my troth! an aesthete could caress those smooth limbs for all eternity.

O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice

Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning

My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green

They're so damn jolly that you would think they were high on something, but then you would quickly come to the realization that they're young, beautiful and wanted - that's more than enough right there to be jolly 24/7.

Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.