She's beautiful! Her raven curlsHave broken hearts in envious girls—And then they sleep in contrast so,Like raven feathers upon snow,And bathe her neck—and shade the brightDark eye from which they catch the light,As if their graceful loops were madeTo keep that glorious eye in shade,And holier make its tranquil spell,Like waters in a shaded well.I cannot rhyme about that eye—I've match'd it with a midnight sky—I've said 'twas deep, and dark, and wild,Expressive, liquid, witching, mild—But the jewell'd star, and the living airHave nothing in them half so fair.She's noble—noble—one to keepEmbalm'd for dreams of fever'd sleep—An eye for nature—taste refin'd,Perception swift, and ballanc'd mind,—And more than all, a gift of thoughtTo such a spirit-fineness wrought,That on my ear her language fell,As if each word dissolv'd a spell.Yet I half hate her. She has allThat would ensure an angel's fall—But there's a cool collected look,As if her pulses beat by book—A measure'd tone, a cold reply,A management of voice and eye,A calm, possess'd, authentic air,That leaves a doubt of softness there,'Till—look and worship as I may—My fever'd thoughts will pass away.And when she lifts her fringing lashes,And her dark eye like star-light flashes—And when she plays her quiet wileOf that calm look, and measur'd smile,I go away like one who's heardIn some fine scene the prompter's word,And make a vow to break her chain,And keep it—till we meet again.
She's beautiful! Her raven curlsHave broken hearts in envious girls—And then they sleep in contrast so,Like raven feathers upon snow,And bathe her neck—and shade the brightDark eye from which they catch the light,As if their graceful loops were madeTo keep that glorious eye in shade,And holier make its tranquil spell,Like waters in a shaded well.
I cannot rhyme about that eye—I've match'd it with a midnight sky—I've said 'twas deep, and dark, and wild,Expressive, liquid, witching, mild—But the jewell'd star, and the living airHave nothing in them half so fair.
She's noble—noble—one to keepEmbalm'd for dreams of fever'd sleep—An eye for nature—taste refin'd,Perception swift, and ballanc'd mind,—And more than all, a gift of thoughtTo such a spirit-fineness wrought,That on my ear her language fell,As if each word dissolv'd a spell.
Yet I half hate her. She has allThat would ensure an angel's fall—But there's a cool collected look,As if her pulses beat by book—A measure'd tone, a cold reply,A management of voice and eye,A calm, possess'd, authentic air,That leaves a doubt of softness there,'Till—look and worship as I may—My fever'd thoughts will pass away.
And when she lifts her fringing lashes,And her dark eye like star-light flashes—And when she plays her quiet wileOf that calm look, and measur'd smile,I go away like one who's heardIn some fine scene the prompter's word,And make a vow to break her chain,And keep it—till we meet again.
ERRATA.—16th page, 10th line from top, "asifit were" for "as it were." Same page 11th line from top "incense" for "insense."46th page, 11th line from the bottom, "go its channel" for "goupits channel." Page60, 2nd line, "As you like it," for "Much ado about Nothing." In the table of Contents "A Portrait," page90, is omitted.
Transcriber's notes:Original spelling retain'd.Errata not corrected.The Table of Contents is also missing a reference to Sonnet. Winter Page72.Typographical errors corrected.86to night corrected to to-night.
Transcriber's notes:
Original spelling retain'd.
Errata not corrected.The Table of Contents is also missing a reference to Sonnet. Winter Page72.
Typographical errors corrected.86to night corrected to to-night.