  'Tis well—'tis well—that clustering shade Is on thy forehead sweetly laid; And that light curl that slumbers by Makes deeper yet thy depth of eye; And that white rose that decks thy hair Just wins the eye to linger there, Yet makes it not to note the less The beauty of that raven tress. Thy coral necklace?—ear-rings too? Nay—nay—not them—no darker hue Than thy white bosom be to-night On that fair neck the bar of light, Or hide the veins that faintly glow And wander in its living snow. What!—yet another? can it be That neck needs ornament to thee?— Yet not thy jewels!—they are bright, But that dark eye has softer light, And tho' each gem had been a star, Thy simple self were lovelier far— Yet stay!—that string of matchless pearl? Nay—wear it—wear it—radiant girl! For ocean's best of pure and white Should only be thy foil to-night. Aye, turn thee round! 'tis lovely all— Thou'lt have no peer at that gay ball! And that proud toss!—it makes thee smile To see how deep is thine own wile; And that slow look that seems to stray As each sweet feature made it stay— And that small finger, lightly laid On dimpled cheek and glossy braid, As if to know that all they seem Is really there, and not a dream— I wish I knew the gentle thought By all this living beauty wrought! I wish I knew if that sweet brow, That neck on which thou gazest now— If thy rich lip and brilliant face— Thy perfect figure's breezy grace— If these are half the spell to thee That will, this night, bewilder me! |
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