A lady combed her silken hair.

None but a looking-glass would dare

To gaze on such a scene.

The blushes thronged her dimpled cheek;

They coursed upon her shoulders, eke,

And the white neck between.

And she was thinking then, I trow,

Of one who, in a whispered vow

Beneath the budding elm,

Had told her they would sail their barque

On lakes where pale stars pierced the dark,

With Cupid at the helm.

Anon, a faint smile pursed her lips

And shook her dainty finger-tips,

As breezes shake the boughs;

And then a quick, impetuous frown

Came gathering from her ringlets down,

And perched upon her brows.

Ah, she was thinking then, I ween,

Of me, poor clumsy dunce, who e'en

Had torn her silken dress.

I waltzed too near her at the ball;

Her beauty dazed me—that was all;

I felt a dizziness.