POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL
ALTHEE
Could tongue define
In warbling line
The music of this heart of mine,
’Twould sing, today,
A roundelay,
For thee, ma belle Creole Althee!
But words are weak,
When words would speak,
The ripeness of thy satin cheek,
Or pearl that tips
With dewy sips
The arches of those blushing lips.
The floods of lace
That flirt and race
In eddying ripples ’round thy face,
Have framed, I ween,
In magic mien,
The daintiest image ever seen.
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