A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.
 
The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,
 
Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise!
So notelessly are made!

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