XXVI

Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,

      Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;

      Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;

      Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees

      Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:

      Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,

      Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,

      In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,

But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.