Is there one who half regal in beauty,
Would be regal in pearl and in gem;
Let her wreath her a crown of red roses,
No rubies are equal to them.
Is there one who sits languid and lonely,
With her fair face bowed down on her hand,
With a pale cheek and glittering eyelash,
And careless locks 'scaped from their band.
For a lover not worth that eye's tear-drop,
Not worth that sweet mouth's rosy kiss,
Nor that cheek though 'tis faded to paleness;
I know not the lover that is.
Let her bind up her beautiful tresses;
Call her wandering rose back again;
And for one prisoner 'scaping her bondage,
A hundred shall carry her chain.
Come, gallants, the gay and the graceful,
With hearts like the light plumes ye wear;
Eyes all but divine light our revel,
Like the stars in whose beauty they share.
Come ye, for the wine cups are mantling,
Some clear as the morning's first light;
Others touched with the evening's last crimson,
Or the blush that may meet ye to night.
