The Pompadour in Art: III

As for myself, proudly I confess
I love not matter lumped and unadorned,
Five feet of flesh is but a cow unhorned
If the quick spirit shew not in the dress;
Blushes are roses in a wilderness,
And pencilled eyebrows are the soul's delight;
The Moon is not more lovely in the night
Than are white shoulders in a shadowy dress:
And in silk stockings frailly gleam white limbs
Like candles drawing painted butterflies;
And dressed hair gives the soul an earthless flower
That shines into our eager, seeking eyes—
For now she speaks and moves beyond all dreams
A Focus where some wild world radiance streams.