II.
Then we surprise each Naiad ere she slips—
Nude at her toilette—in her fountain's glass,
With damp locks dewy, and large godlike hips
Cool-glittering; but discovered, when—alas!
From green, indented moss and plushy grass,—
Her great eyes' pansy-black reproaching,—dips
She white the cloven waters ere we pass:
And a broad, orbing ripple makes to hide
From our desirous gaze provoked what path
She gleaming took; what haunt she bashful hath
In minnowy freshness, where her murmurous lips
Bubbling make merry 'neath the rocky tide.