AT A HIGH CEREMONY

Not the proudest damsel here

Looks so well as doth my dear.

All the borrowed light of dress

Outshining not her loveliness,

A loveliness not born of art,

But growing outwards from her heart,

Illuminating all her face,

And filling all her form with grace.

Said I, of dress the borrowed light

Could rival not her beauty bright?

Yet, looking round,‘ tis truth to tell,

No damsel here is dressed so well.

Only in them the dress one sees,

Because more greatly it doth please

Than any other charm that's theirs,

Than all their manners, all their airs.

But dress in her, although indeed

It perfect be, we do not heed,

Because the face, the form, the air

Are all so gentle and so rare.