Page:Finden's Gallery.pdf/11

 And upon thy arm of snow Rubies like red sun-gifts glow; Yet thou wearest pearl and gem As thou hadst forgotten them. 'Tis a step, but made to tread O'er Persian's web, or flower's head,— Soft hand that might only move In the broidered silken glove,— Cheek unused to ruder air Than what hot-house rose might bear; One whom nature only meant To be Queen of the tournament,— Courtly fête, and lighted hall,— Grace and ornament of all!