With unassured yet graceful step advancing, The light vermilion of her cheek more warm For doubtful modesty; while all were glancing Over the strange attire that well became such form To lend her space the admiring band gave way; The sandals on her silvery feet were blue; Of saffron tint her robe, as when young day Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trembling dew. Light was that robe as mist; and not a gem Or ornament impedes its wavy fold, Long and profuse; save that, above its hem, 'Twas broidered with pomegranate-wreath, in gold. And, by a silken cincture, broad and blue, In shapely guise about the waste confined, Blent with the curls that, of a lighter hue, Half floated, waving in their length behind; The other half, in braided tresses twined, Was decked with rose of pearls, and sapphires azure too, Arranged with curious skill to imitate The sweet acacia's blossoms; just as live And droop those tender flowers in natural state; And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive, And pendent
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