HER dimpled cheeks are pale; She's a lily of the vale, Not a rose. In a muslin or a lawn She is fairer than the dawn To her beaux. Her boots are slim and neat, -- She is vain about her feet, It is said. She amputates her r's, But her eyes are like the stars Overhead. On a balcony at night, With a fleecy cloud of white Round her hair -- Her grace, ah, who could paint? She would fascinate a saint, I declare. 'T is a matter of regret, She's a bit of a coquette, Whom I sing: On her cruel path she goes With a half a dozen beaux To her string. But let all that pass by, As her maiden moments fly, Dew-empearled; When she marries, on my life, She will make the dearest wife In the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEARING LEAVES AGAIN by DAVID IGNATOW THE HURRICANE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT HOHENLINDEN by THOMAS CAMPBELL LAMENT FOR THE MAKARIS [WHEN HE WAS SEIK] by WILLIAM DUNBAR SONG (10) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |