Prose sketches and poems, Written in the Western Country | ||
88
SONNET.
She is not beautiful—but in her eyesNo common spirit shadows forth itself;
So mild, so quiet, so serenely wise,
Yet merry, as of any dainty elf
That dances on the turf by star-lit skies.
And such a friend she is—so good and true—
So free from envy, scorn, or prejudice;
She is as constant as high heaven is blue;
She seems like some most gentle, lustrous star,
Which men will love, because it dazzles not.
And though I wear away my life afar,
Still, in this mountainous and savage spot,
I think of her, as one who soothed my care,
And did her best to keep me from despair.
Valley of the Picuris, September 2, 1832.
Prose sketches and poems, Written in the Western Country | ||