VIII

Look how over her seeing-them-not her maids

Smile at each other their same thought of her!

Already is she deflowered in others' thoughts.

With curions carefulness of inlocked braids,

With hands that in the sun minutely stir,

One works her hair into concerted knots.

Another buttons tight the gown; her hand,

Touching the body's warmth of life, doth band

Her thoughts with the rude bridegroom's hand to be.

The first then, on the veil placed mistily,

Lays on her head, her own head sideways leaning,

The garland soon to have no meaning.

The first then, on the veil placed mistily,

Fit close the trembling feet, and her eyes see

The stockinged leg, road upwards to that boon

Where all this day centres its revelry.