 | Aonian Hours; And Other Poems |  |
To ******.
No! not the tress round the mild eye curling
Of Beauty falls in a sweeter fold,
Though dark it droops like a banner furling,
Or floats like the sun in a sea of gold;
And not the smile on lips descending,
Bright with mirth, seems so divine,
As when, dearest maid, dear Music's lending
Her soul to beautiful lips like thine.
Of Beauty falls in a sweeter fold,
Though dark it droops like a banner furling,
Or floats like the sun in a sea of gold;
And not the smile on lips descending,
Bright with mirth, seems so divine,
As when, dearest maid, dear Music's lending
Her soul to beautiful lips like thine.
132
Tresses fall faded, smiles are fleeting,
Blue eyes oft shoot us an icy glance,
But O! what spirit can still the beating
Of pulses that tremble, and hearts that dance!
The kindest gift—the sweetest token,
Tress or smile I would resign,
Once more but to hear one dear word spoken
By those so beautiful lips of thine!
Blue eyes oft shoot us an icy glance,
But O! what spirit can still the beating
Of pulses that tremble, and hearts that dance!
The kindest gift—the sweetest token,
Tress or smile I would resign,
Once more but to hear one dear word spoken
By those so beautiful lips of thine!
| Aonian Hours; And Other Poems | |