"Conviene reír sin esperar a ser dichoso, no sea que nos sorprenda la muerte sin haber reído". (Jean de la Bruyère)
Pleasure led the jocund rear, Smiling arch with wanton leer; ... Poppies crown'd her raven hair Which wanton'd o'er her shoulders fair; Ringlets 'twin'd her vaulted brow, And sought to hide her breast of snow; Seduction lurk'd in every sigh, And fascination in her eye. Beauty blush'd, her gaze withdrew, Nor durst the shameless syren view. Her right hand held a blooming wreath, But many thorns were hid beneath; "The triumph of pleasure"