And—what from poet's eye is hid, by others though unseen?—
It was the favorite palace of the lovely Fairy Queen;
Adown its tender petals oft her tiny chariot rolled,
And she within its fragrant folds her Elfin court did hold.
'Twas then I thought of one who blooms 'mid beauty's living flowers,
Like this sweet bud among its mates within the garden's bowers,
With unassuming, modest grace—her charms she never knew—
Superior worth her brightest charm. And, lady, is it you?
"I read these verses to Dora, and then I asked her the question propounded in the last line."