Juan had on a shawl of black and gold,
But a white baracan, and so transparent
The sparkling gems beneath you might behold,
Like small stars through the milky way apparent;
His turban, furled in many a graceful fold,
An emerald aigrette, with Haidée’s hair in ’t,
Surmounted as its clasp—a glowing crescent,
Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant.