Captured, just where it finds a fellow-orb as fine
I' the body: traced about by jewels which outline,
Fire-frame, and keep distinct, perfections—lest they melt
To soft smooth unity ere half their hold be felt:
Yet, o'er that white and wonder, a soul's predominance
I' the head so high and haught—except one thievish glance,
From back of oblong eye, intent to count the slain.
Hush,—oh, I know, Elvire! Be patient, more remain!
What say you to Saint? ... Pish! Whatever Saint you please,
Cold-pinnacled aloft o' the spire, prays calm the seas