Strong sun， that bleach¹

    The curtains of my room， can you not render

    Colourless this dress I wear？——

    This violent plaid

    Of purple angers and red shames； the yellow stripe

    Of thin but valid² treacheries； the flashy green of kind deeds done

    Through indolence high judgments³ given here in haste；

    The recurring⁴ checker of the serious breach⁵ of taste？

    No more uncoloured than unmade，

    I fear， can be this garment that I may not doff⁶；

    Confession⁷ does not strip it off，

    To send me homeward eased and bare；

    All through the formal， unoffending evening， under the clean

    Bright hair，

    Lining⁸ the subtle gown. . .it is not seen，

    But it is there.