VIII

Look how over her seeing-them-not her maids Smile at each other their same thought of her! Already is she deflowered in others' thoughts. With curious carefulness of inlocked braids, With hands that in the sun minutely stir, One works her hair into concerted knots. Another buttons tight the gown; her hand, Touching the body's warmth of life, doth band Her thoughts with the rude bridegroom's hand to be. The first then, on the veil placed mistily, Lays on her head, her own head sideways leaning, The garland soon to have no meaning. The other, at her knees, makes the white shoon Fit close the trembling feet, and her eyes see The stockinged leg, road upwards to that boon Where all this day centres its revelry.