BEAUTY'S PAGEANT
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hat dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or lastIncarnate flower of culminating day,--What marshalled marvels on the skirts of May,Or song full-quired, sweet June's encomiast;What glory of change by nature's hand amass'dCan vie with all those moods of varying graceWhich o'er one loveliest woman's form and faceWithin this hour, within this room, have pass'd? Love's very vesture and elect disguiseWas each fine movement,--wonder new-begotOf lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot;Joy to his sight who now the sadlier sighs,Parted again; and sorrow yet for eyesUnborn that read these words and saw her not.
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