 | May Fair |  |
Along the streets the chamber-light,
Shows toilets busy for the night.
Oh! for a touch of friend Asmodeus,
A station on some roof commodious;
To watch, without a compound fracture,
The sweet, man-killing manufacture!—
There beauty in her mirror grows,
Let rivals hate the shape it shows.
Now wreathe the brow the raven tresses,
A smile the dear effect confesses:
Now round the neck the diamonds glitter,
No cynic could at this look bitter.
On goes the jewel-bound panache;
Her eyes return it flash for flash.
The tissued silk, the Brussels lace,
What wonder if she like that face?—
'Tis but plain justice to admire
That shape, that step, that eye of fire.
Last, o'er her shoulders drops the shawl,
To hide, in mercy to us all,
What,—if I dar'd to speak my mind,
Might make, but never meet, me blind.
Shows toilets busy for the night.
176
A station on some roof commodious;
To watch, without a compound fracture,
The sweet, man-killing manufacture!—
There beauty in her mirror grows,
Let rivals hate the shape it shows.
Now wreathe the brow the raven tresses,
A smile the dear effect confesses:
Now round the neck the diamonds glitter,
No cynic could at this look bitter.
On goes the jewel-bound panache;
Her eyes return it flash for flash.
The tissued silk, the Brussels lace,
What wonder if she like that face?—
'Tis but plain justice to admire
That shape, that step, that eye of fire.
177
To hide, in mercy to us all,
What,—if I dar'd to speak my mind,
Might make, but never meet, me blind.
| May Fair | |