Pleasure is the idol of her heart: she thirsteth for no purer heaven.
And she laugheth with light good humour, and all men praise her gentleness;
They are glad in her lovely smile, and the river of her bounty filleth them.
So she prospered in the world: the worship and desire of thousands;
And she died even as she had lived, careless and courteous and liberal.
The grave swallowed up her pomp, the marble proclaimed her virtues,
For men esteemed her excellent, and charities soundeth forth her praise:
But elsewhere far other judgment setteth her—with infidels and harlots!
She abused the trust of her splendour: and the wages of her sin shall be hereafter.
Look again on this fair girl, the orphan of a village pastor