The Demon, in my lofty vault, This morning came to visit me,
And striving me to find at fault,
He said, "Fain would I know of thee;
 
"Among the many beauteous things,
—All which her subtle grace proclaim—
Among the dark and rosy things,
Which go to make her charming frame,
 
"Which is the sweetest unto thee"?
My soul! to Him thou didst retort—
"Since all with her is destiny,
Of preference there ............