Some victory o'er reluctant remnants won,
Fresh from the trophies of her skill,
Things that she needed not, nor ever will,
She takes the well-earned bun;
Ambrosial food, Demeter erst design'd
As the appropriate food of womankind,
Plain, or with comfits deck'd and spice;
Or, daintier, dallies with an ice.
Nor feels in heart the worse
Because the haberdashers thus disperse