XV

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XV

Ladies in crowds around her close,

Her with a smile old women greet,

The men salute with lower bows

And watch her eye’s full glance to meet.

Maidens before her meekly move

Along the hall, and high above

The crowd doth head and shoulders rise

The general who accompanies.

None could her beautiful declare,

Yet viewing her from head to foot,

None could a trace of that impute,

Which in the elevated sphere

Of London life is “vulgar” called

And ruthless fashion hath blackballed.