Chapter IX

Ah, Love, th' Invisible Buskin at the Gate Illumes your Eyes that languored gaze and wait And in their Incandescence seem to ask The world-old Question: "Is my Hat On Straight?"

X

Than Basilisk or Nenuphar more fair, Your Locks with countless glistening Pendants glare, Then as the Fountain patters to the brim A hundred Hairpins tumble from your Hair.