She looked like the picture of a young rapt saint, lost in heavenly musing
She moved like mirth incarnate
She nestles like a dove
She played with a hundred possibilities fitfully and discursively as a musician runs his fingers over a key-board
She played with grave cabinets as a cat plays with a mouse
She saw this planet like a star hung in the glistening depths of even
She seemed as happy as a wave that dances on the sea
She shall be sportive as the fawn
She stood silent a moment, dropping before him like a broken branch
She that passed had lips like pinks