In perfect innocence she then unmade Her toilet, which cost little, for she was A child of Nature, carelessly array’d: If fond of a chance ogle at her glass, ’Twas like the fawn, which, in the lake display’d, Beholds her own shy, shadowy image pass, When first she starts, and then returns to peep, Admiring this new native of the deep. And one by one her articles of dress Were laid aside; but not before she offer’d Her aid to fair Juanna, whose excess Of modesty declined the assistance proffer’d: Which pass’d well off—as she could do no less; Though by this politesse she rather suffer’d, Pricking her fingers with those cursed pins, Which surely were invented for our sins,— Making a woman like a porcupine, Not to be rashly touch’d. But still more dread, O ye! whose fate it is, as once ’twas mine, In early youth, to turn a lady’s maid;— I did my very boyish best to shine In tricking her out for a masquerade; The pins were placed sufficiently, but not Stuck all exactly in the proper spot. But these are foolish things to all the wise, And I love wisdom more than she loves me; My tendency is to philosophise On most things, from a tyrant to a tree; But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies. What are we? and whence came we? what shall be Our ultimate existence? what ’s our present? Are questions answerless, and yet incessant. There was deep silence in the chamber: dim And distant from each other burn’d the lights, And slumber hover’d o’er each lovely limb Of the fair occupants: if there be sprites, They should have walk’d there in their sprightliest trim, By way of change from their sepulchral sites, And shown themselves as ghosts of better taste Than haunting some old ruin or wild waste. Many and beautiful lay those around, Like flowers of different hue, and clime, and root, In some exotic garden sometimes found, With cost, and care, and warmth induced to shoot. One with her auburn tresses lightly bound, And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit Nods from the tree, was slumbering with soft breath, And lips apart, which show’d the pearls beneath. One with her flush’d cheek laid on her white arm, And raven ringlets gather’d in dark crowd Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and warm; And smiling through her dream, as through a cloud The moon breaks, half unveil’d each further charm, As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud, Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of night All bashfully to struggle into light. This is no bull, although it sounds so; for ’Twas night, but there were lamps, as hath been said. A third’s all pallid aspect offer’d more The traits of sleeping sorrow, and betray’d Through the heaved breast the dream of some far shore Beloved and deplored; while slowly stray’d (As night-dew, on a cypress glittering, tinges The black bough) tear-drops through her eyes’ dark fringes.