MY true-love's eyes are a surprise
To put an end to ranging;
They vary so,—come weal, come woe,—
One can but watch their changing!
Sometimes they shine with light divine,—
Twin deeps where moonbeams hover,—
Anon they seem like stars agleam,
With laughter brimming over.
My true-love's mouth is as the south
In time of blossom, sunny;
A rose, in death, bequeathed it breath,
And bees have lent it honey.
But oh, her heart is still the art,
The magic fresh and living,
That wins the free her slaves to be
By its own gift of giving!