"And this is why my spleen's above
The power of words;—'tis that they can
Make the vile semblance be to Love
Just what the Monkey is to Man!
"But yonder I, methinks, can trace
One very different from these—
Her features speak—her form is Grace
Completed by the touch of Ease!
"That opening lip, that fine frank eye
Breathe Nature's own true gaiety—