“I have the flaunting air, she said, Laughing remorse away For vanities that now are dead, Dear follies of a day. Like a great golden ship she rode, Capricious at her ease, Spreading a sail to catch the mode Of every idle breeze. A dancing cloak she wore above Her pale serenity: O lamp of faith, O light o' love, Which was more dear to me?” LovePoetryFaithRemorseFolliesVanities Book:The Man with a Load of Mischief Source: The Man with a Load of Mischief