174
TO —.
Of a low, sweet voice I’m dreaming,
More soft than the southwinds are,
Of a gentle eye that is beaming,
More bright than the Evening Star;
More soft than the southwinds are,
Of a gentle eye that is beaming,
More bright than the Evening Star;
And I read as many pages
In the depths of that hazel eye,
As were read by the Chaldean sages,
In the glittering stars on high;
In the depths of that hazel eye,
As were read by the Chaldean sages,
In the glittering stars on high;
And the dreams that float under the cover
Of those snowy lids of thine,
The thoughts in that young heart that hover,
I have magic power to divine.
Of those snowy lids of thine,
The thoughts in that young heart that hover,
I have magic power to divine.
