One rosy cheek lies pillow’d on her hand,
And through her waving, wandering auburn curls
The zephyr cupids frolic merrily,
Tossing them to and fro upon her brow
In sportive play. It is a brow of thought,
Endow’d by God and Nature, though, alas!
Held in paralysis by selfish laws
Which strive to steal a fair inheritance,
And bid the woman bow the knee to man.
Maremna sleeps.