This page has been validated.
13
I've gazed on many a brighter face,
But ne'er on one for years,
Where beauty left so soft a trace
As it had left on hers.
But who can paint the spell, that wove
A brightness round the whole?
'T would take an angel from above
To paint the immortal soul—
To trace the light, the inborn grace,
The spirit, sparkling o'er her face.
But ne'er on one for years,
Where beauty left so soft a trace
As it had left on hers.
But who can paint the spell, that wove
A brightness round the whole?
'T would take an angel from above
To paint the immortal soul—
To trace the light, the inborn grace,
The spirit, sparkling o'er her face.
Her bosom was a soft retreat
For love, and love alone,
And yet her heart had never beat
To Love's delicious tone.
It dwelt within its circle free
From tender thoughts like these,
Waiting the little deity,
As the blossom waits the breeze
Before it throws the leaves apart
And trembles, like the love-touched heart,
For love, and love alone,
And yet her heart had never beat
To Love's delicious tone.
It dwelt within its circle free
From tender thoughts like these,
Waiting the little deity,
As the blossom waits the breeze
Before it throws the leaves apart
And trembles, like the love-touched heart,
She was a creature, strange as fair,
First mournful and then wild—
Now laughing on the clear bright air
As merry as a child,
Then, melting down, as soft as even
Beneath some new control,
She'd throw her hazel eyes to heaven
And sing with all her soul,
First mournful and then wild—
Now laughing on the clear bright air
As merry as a child,
Then, melting down, as soft as even
Beneath some new control,
She'd throw her hazel eyes to heaven
And sing with all her soul,
