 | Italy and Other Poems |  |
222
A FANCY SKETCH.
I knew a gentle maid: I ne'er shall viewHer like again: and yet the vulgar eye
Might pass the charms I trac'd, regardless, by:
For pale her cheek, unmark'd with roseate hue,
Nor beam'd from her mild eye a dazzling glance,
Nor flash'd her nameless graces on the sight:
Yet Beauty never woke such pure delight.
Fine was her form, as Dian's in the dance:
Her voice was music, in her silence dwelt
Expression, every look instinct with thought:
Though oft her mind, by youth to rapture wrought,
Struck forth wild wit, and fancies ever new,
The lightest touch of woe her soul would melt:
And on her lips, when gleam'd a lingering smile,
Pity's warm tear gush'd down her cheek the while:
Thy like, thou gentle maid! I ne'er shall view.
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