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?