The short, passing anger but seemed to awaken
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when shaken.
If tenderness touched her, the dark of her eye
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings
From innermost shrines came the light of her feelings.
Then her mirth—O, ’twas sportive as ever took wing
From the heart with a burst like the wild-bird in spring,
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,
Yet playful as Peris let loose from their cages;