THE THIRD DAY 
 
“ My love is most immaculate white and red.” 
Love’s Labour's Lost. 
 
She was more graceful than the royal palm ; 
Tall, with imperial looks, and excellence 
Most simply swathed in spotless elegance, 
And holy and tuneful like some stately psalm. 
Her breath was like a grove of myrrh and balm, 
And all the sight grew dim before the sense 
Of blind attraction toward ; an influence 
Not incompatible with her own calm. 
 
All the red roses of the world were blended 
To give the lively colour of her face ; 
All the white lilies of the sea shone splendid 
Where the blue veins afforded them a space ; 
Like to the shapely fragrance of dawn’s shrine 
She gleamed through mist, enchanting, Erycine. 
 
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