I wonder if the magic spells

That in the days of yore

Bewitched so oft poor harmless folks

(Unlucky wights!) are o’er?

I can’t believe it, for I’ve felt

The witchery of thy smile;

I’ve felt thy magic arts, and yet

I’ve loved thee all the while.

Is it the gleam of snowy teeth,

Or wave of silken tress,

That brings me to thy side, to gaze

Upon thy loveliness?

It cannot be, for I have seen

Full many a maid as fair;

I’ve seen as ruby lips before,

I’ve seen as glossy hair.

Some dark enchantress has bequeathed

To thee her magic art,

And thou hast bound me with thy spell,

And stolen all my heart.