Francis Thompson

Chose Vue

A metrical caprice.

Up she rose, fair daughter-well she was graced
As a cloud her going, stept from her chair,
As a summer-soft cloud, in her going paced,
Down dropped her riband-band, and all her waving hair
Shook like loosened music cadent to her waist;-
Lapsing like music, wavery as water,
Slid to her waist.