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; 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 a! 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FORGOTTEN TUNE by PAUL VERLAINE THE CATS' MONTH by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS STRANGE MEETINGS: 10 by HAROLD MONRO FROM THE ANTIQUE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): THE MEETING by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |