Prouder it looks than when on high
It flouted at a flaming sky;
For now, no more on thorny stem,
It graces beauty’s diadem.
Her neck is bare—her shoulders too,
And with the cold they had been blue,
But for the flakes of mealy hue—
The powder of the pearl—
Which, like the frost on frozen shore,
Or web of gossamer, was o’er