Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | ||
XVII.
The tresses on her neck were flowing,That shone beneath her glossy hair
Like earth below when skies are snowing—
For darkness made her more than fair.
She waved her hand—but nothing said—
And Malavolti would have spoken—
But he was silent as the dead,
As thus his very heart was broken:
Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | ||