THE IMPROVISATRICE.
29
As, till then, life had not been felt,—
And mine was sealed in the slight gaze
Which fixed my eye, and fired my brain,
And bowed my heart beneath the chain.
‘Twas a dark and flashing eye,
Shadows, too, that tenderly,
With almost female softness, came
O’er its mingled gloom and flame.
His cheek was pale; or toil, or care,
Or midnight study, had been there,
Making its young colours dull,
Yet leaving it most beautiful.
Raven curls their shadow threw,
Like the twilight’s darkening hue,
O’er the pure and mountain snow
Of his high and haughty brow;
