Page:Flora (Heinemann 1919).djvu/73

 Fie, fie, Sephina! not in bed!

Crouched on the staircase overhead.

Like ghost she gloats, her lean hand laid

On alabaster balustrade,

And gazes on and on:

Down on that wondrous to and fro

Till finger and foot are cold as snow,

And half the night is gone;

And dazzled eyes are sore bestead;

Nods drowsily the sleek-locked head;

And, vague and far, spins, fading out,

That rainbow-coloured, reeling rout;

And, with faint sighs, her spirit flies

Into deep sleep ....

Come, Stranger, peep!

Was ever cheek so wan? 45