Creeps like an inward hand. Look how she tarries! Tell her: fear not glee! Come up! Awake! Dress for undressing! Stand! Look how the sun is altogether all! Life hums around her senses petalled close. Come up! Come up! Pleasure must thee befall! Joy to be plucked, O yet ungathered rose! VII Now is she risen. Look how she looks down, After her slow down-slid night-gown, On her unspotted while of nakedness Save where the beast's difference from her white frame Hairily triangling black below doth shame Her to-day's sight of it, till the caress Of the chemise cover her body. Dress! Stop not, sitting upon the bed's hard edge, Stop not to wonder at by-and-bye, nor guess! List to the rapid birds i'th' window ledge! Up, up and washed! Lo! she is up half-gowned, For she lacks hands to have power to button fit
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