The lady cardinal hides her lustrous, fiery plume
beneath her dull, unlustrous, feather'd cloak of gray,
a bride beveil'd, her locks conceal'd from her own groom,
to be reveal'd when all the guests have gone away;
but like the bride, no matter how she works and tries,
that heart-deep beauty shines through every shallow veil,
turns every passing glance into divine surprise,
when brilliance o'er a modest cov'ring shall prevail.
For truest beauty cannot e'er be set aside,
not e'en the one who has it can its light assail;
her cloak of gray her inner splendor has belied:
not even her own plumage can her plumage hide.
