 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
250
REFLECTIONS
Has n't she a roguish eye?—
Oh, the mischief in it!—
Who'd not love to live or die
In it every minute?
Oh, the mischief in it!—
Who'd not love to live or die
In it every minute?
Has n't she a laughing lip?
Oh, the rose that wreathes there!—
Who'd not be the sighs that slip,
Or the breath that breathes there?
Oh, the rose that wreathes there!—
Who'd not be the sighs that slip,
Or the breath that breathes there?
Has n't she a dainty ear?—
Oh, the dearness of it!—
Who'd not have it very near,
Like the flower above it?
Oh, the dearness of it!—
Who'd not have it very near,
Like the flower above it?
Has n't she a darling foot?—
Oh, the way she trips it!—
Who'd not love to be the boot
That this moment clips it?
Oh, the way she trips it!—
Who'd not love to be the boot
That this moment clips it?
Has n't she a lissome waist?—
Oh, the grace that molds it!—
Who'd not be the belt that's placed
Round it and that holds it?
Oh, the grace that molds it!—
Who'd not be the belt that's placed
Round it and that holds it?
251
Oft and oft she smiles at me,
Smiles as she draws nearer.—
How she loves me!—But, you see,
I am just her mirror.
Smiles as she draws nearer.—
How she loves me!—But, you see,
I am just her mirror.
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |