Certainly it is Shirley. Who else has a shape so lithe, and proud, and graceful? And her face, too, is visible--her countenance careless and pensive, and musing and mirthful, and mocking and tender. Not fearing the dew, she has not covered her head; her curls are free--they veil her neck and caress her shoulder with their tendril rings. An ornament of gold gleams through the half-closed folds of the scarf she has wrapped across her bust, and a large bright gem glitters on the white hand which confines it. Yes, that is Shirley.

Certainly it is Shirley. Who else has a shape so lithe, and proud, and graceful? And her face, too, is visible - careless and pensive, mocking and tender. Her curls caress her shoulder with their tendril rings. That is Shirley.
