A budding mouth and warm blue eyes;
A laughing face;--and laughing hair,
So ruddy does it rise
From off that forehead fair;
Frank fervor in whate'er she said,
And a shy grace when she was still;
A bright, elastic tread;
Enthusiastic will;
These wrought the magic of a maid
As sweet and sad as the sun in spring,
Joyous, yet half-afraid
Her joyousness to sing.
What weighs the unworthiness of earth
When beauty such as this finds birth?
Rare maid, to look on thee
Gives all things harmony!
"THE SUNSHINE OF THINE EYES."
The sunshine of thine eyes,
(Oh still, celestial beam!)
Whatever it touches it fills
With the life of its lambent gleam.
The sunshine of thine eyes,
Oh let it fall on me!
Though I be but a mote of the air,
I could turn to gold for thee!
"WHEN, LOOKING DEEPLY IN THY FACE."
When, looking deeply in thy face,
I catch the undergleam of grace
That grows beneath the outward glance,
Long looking, lost as in a trance
Of long desires that fleet and meet
Around me like the fresh and sweet
White showers of rain which, vanishing,
'Neath heaven's blue arches whirl, in spring;
Suddenly then I seem to know
Of some new fountain's overflow
In grassy basins, with a sound
That leads my fancy, past all bound,
Into a region of retreat
From this my life's bewildered heat.
Oh if my soul might always draw
From those deep fountains full of awe,
The current of my days should rise
Unto the level of thine eyes!