The Re-echo Club: as by Felicia Hemans

The Marcel waves dash'd high
Where the puffs and frizzes crossed;
And just above a roguish eye
A little curl was tossed.

And that little curl hung down
O'er a brow like a holy saint;
Her goodness was beyond renown,
And yet--there was a taint.

Ay, call it deadly sin,
The temper that she had;
But that Little Girl just gloried in
Freedom to be real bad!