With that classical head and complexion of pearl?

So pale and enchanting that sometimes I deem

Her a sweet revelation as when in a dream,

Through wild variations of trouble and fear,

You suddenly feel that an angel is near.

Now guess, if you can, without half of that frown,

For to me she’s the prettiest girl in the town.

The poets all sing of these quaint Highland girls

With enchanting dimples and loose tangled curls;

Or they weave a love-tale from her budding lip’s glow

While chasing the reindeer o’er mountains of snow;

This is only the skill of a well tinctured pen,

Dipped in Romance’s cup for the praises of men,

Who value this maid in the coarse homespun gown

Something less than the prettiest girl in the town.

You must all have watched the calm light of her eyes,

And ethereal figure with heavy drawn sighs;

Pondered often in secret of some magic gift

To win you this face—so like a snowdrift—

I would whisper a secret: On Valentine’s day,

With Cupid commune in a sly, cunning way,

Else only in dreams she is thine; for a crown

Could not purchase the prettiest girl in the town.