Nought can she fathom of one glyphic Page,
Nought from a Woman's Record can she tell -
I still must guess at Zamperina's Age.



LXXVIII



Time only knows, whose spinning Axes quake
The astral Turrets where the Patient wake
To count the Stars and Planets as they pass -
Oh, what a Task for one to Undertake!



LXXIX



Ask not behind my moated Soul austere
One Moment on my Secret Self to peer -
Already you have seen Sufficient there
To keep me in a wholesome State of Fear.



LXXX