 | The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems |  |
118
TO THE QUEEN'S HEALTH.
I drink, I dare not say to whom,
A Queen—not England's Queen, but mine!
I drink to one whose pure young lips
Are richer than the wine.
A Queen—not England's Queen, but mine!
I drink to one whose pure young lips
Are richer than the wine.
Unto her hazel eyes I drink,
And to her nut-brown hair,
And to the cheeks that wear
The sea-shell's faintest pink!
And to her nut-brown hair,
And to the cheeks that wear
The sea-shell's faintest pink!
I would that I might breathe her name,
My simple song would grow divine,
Even as these molten rubies turn
(When spilt for her,) to holy wine!
My simple song would grow divine,
Even as these molten rubies turn
(When spilt for her,) to holy wine!
| The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems | |