Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her,
Those little glitterers of the London night;
But none of these possessed a sting to wound her—
She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb’s flight.
Perhaps she wished an aspirant profounder;
But whatsoe’er she wished, she acted right;
And whether Coldness, Pride, or Virtue dignify
A Woman—so she’s good—what does it signify?