As milky roses at the end of day In some deserted bower seem still alight With their own luminous pallor, so she cast A softened brightness and a pearly light On that wild place, in which she sate and sang. She wore a shift of whitest silk, that stirred With her song’s breathing, and a girdle green As emerald or wettest meadow-grass. Her blue-veined feet played in the watery space Slant in its prism-vision like white fish Darting together. When she stretched them out The water made her silver anklet-chains Glancing with diamond-drops and lucid pearls Which shone as bright as those about her
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