A metrical caprice. <br /> <br />Up she rose, fair daughter--well she was graced <br />As a cloud her going, stept from her chair, <br />As a summer-soft cloud, in her going paced, <br />Down dropped her riband-band, and all her waving hair <br />Shook like loosened music cadent to her waist;-- <br />Lapsing like music, wavery as water, <br />Slid to her waist.<br /><br />Francis Thompson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chose-vue/
