At a High Ceremony
Not the proudest damsel here
Looks so well as doth my dear.
All the borrowed light of dress
Outshining not her loveliness,
A loveliness not born of art,
But growing outwards from her heart,
Illuminating all her face,
And filling all her form with grace.
Said I, of dress the borrowed light
Could rival not her beauty bright?
Yet, looking round, `tis truth to tell,
No damsel here is dressed so well.
Only in them the dress one sees,
Because more greatly it doth please
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