A look of bland approval. One alone
Hung bending down, as if to mark the bloom
Of rosy flowerets in the rich bouquet
That beautified her bosom. Did her cheek
Catch deeper crimson from their loveliness
That made it glow so brightly? Sooth to tell
There was a hue like that of sunset clouds
Which fluttered sweetly there. It might be caught
By strong reflection from those happy flowers
Which hung upon that breast; or it might spring