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"An English lady, visiting an odalisque, inquired what pleasure her profusion of rich ornaments could afford, as no person except her husband was ever to behold them. 'And for whom,' replied the fair oriental, 'do you adorn yourself?—is it for other men?'"

Oh, not for strangers do I wear The jewels in my flowing hair, Nor yet for others' eyes array My limbs in vestments rich and gay: Nor wish that even friends should see The smile that's only meant for thee.

From pleasures of this life debarred, They tell me that my lot is hard, That, forc'd like prison'd bird to pine, Such joys as theirs can ne'er be mine; That beauty, wit, and gems are vain If hidden they must thus remain.

They tell me that in festal hall, To be admired and prais'd by all, To feel one's self—O triumph high!— The cynosure of every eye, The fairest of the fair to be: This, this is life,—bright, glad and free.

From such advice I turn away, It only serves to lead astray: The dance, the crowd, are not for me, I envy not their liberty:— Happy as queen upon her throne, I love to dwell among mine own.

Is there no peace for them at home, That restless here and there they roam? And are they of their lords so tired, That they should seek to be admired