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When I was young, I had these dolls, in various guise and shapes,
The first was been the simplest; in it no single garment
or any ornament embedded, but only made of clay and heights four inches,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed and clothed the doll in scarlet dress.
The second doll was only made of scarves of woolen rags in many color set and 
tone, 
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed again, and dangled some trinkets on its neck.
My third doll was more ornate and made of wood, which was slightly rough,
But its face and clothes were not alike from me; but of Japanese in a kimono
with a sash of obi around its tiny waist and wooden sandals on its feet,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and furnished it with gesso.
Then my fourth doll was made of ivory, and clothed in simple bulk skin,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and adorned its clothes with lace.
And my last doll was made of bisque from Germany:
fair-haired and fair skinned, until I noticed, some hairpiece fell as I untangled,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed, and put a bonnet on its head.

And then I grew and see much of the world; more than my dolls, more than 
myself;
Like a woman I met, who’s very fond of costly suits and polish gems
only to make cover of her unwanted aspects,
“Pity!” I said, “she hides her imperfection!”
Then this bachelor who’s tired and aged, but still aspires for lofty aims,
“Alas!” I said “he’s blinded much of his imperfection!”
And to this lady I knew, who’s young and fair but lost a man she dear,
and grieves to him excessively, with no more time to stare and glad to other 
things,
“Alas!” I said” she mourns too much her imperfection!”
And for poor man I knew, complaining day and night to his misfortune,
“Alas!” I said, “he hasn’t done a thing to his imperfection!”
And to this dying man of severe illness, reproachful to his fate,
“Poor man”, I said, “he ought to know that death is not an imperfection.”
And lastly, when I meet someone who grief or find no peace and happiness,
“Alas!” I’ll say, “you ought to see that life is made of many imperfections!”
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