There was a tender beauty in her face, A smile like magic,
A mystic light within her soft dark eyes, Half gay—half tragic;
As if the better angel of her life At times were grieving,
To find that one so fair and young could be Ever deceiving.
For, shame to tell! she trifled with two hearts, With both coquetting,
And so I tore her image from my breast, My love forgetting.
Yet blame not all because deceit lay shrined In heart so youthful;
For one false woman, trust me, you will find Ten thousand truthful!
_-_Hablot_Knight_Browne.png)
_-_Hablot_Knight_Browne.png)