University of Virginia Library


57

WINNY.


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Her blue eyes they beam and they twinkle,
Her lips, they make smiling more fair;
On cheek and on brow there's no wrinkle,
But thousands of curls in her hair.
She's little,—you don't wish her taller;
Just half through the teens is her age;
And baby or lady to call her,
Were something to puzzle a sage.
Her walk is far better than dancing;
She speaks as another might sing;
And all by an innocent chancing,
Like lambkins and birds in the spring.
Unskill'd in the airs of the city,
She's perfect in natural grace;

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She's gentle, and truthful, and witty,
And ne'er spends a thought on her face.
Her face, with the fine glow that's in it,
As fresh as an apple-tree bloom—
And O! when she comes, in a minute,
Like sunbeams she brightens the room.
As taking in mind as in feature,
How many will sigh for her sake!
—I wonder, the sweet little creature,
What sort of a wife she would make.