LVII.

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?