Etchings in Verse (Underhill)/Valerie

by Andrew Findlay Underhill

VALERIE.

YOUR eyes are tender brown,
Valerie.
Your cheeks are soft as down,
Valerie.

There's a dreamy, languid grace
Faintly lingering in your face,
And of passion—just a trace,
Valerie.

You were made to rule, a queen,
Valerie,
O'er some Eastern realm serene,
Valerie;

Or to loll within the shade
Of some cool and leafy glade,
Where the half-lights faint and fade,
Valerie.

You have lovers by the score,
Valerie.
Who would give their lives—and more—
Valerie.

As the bee that honey sips—
Just to touch your finger tips
With the homage of their lips,
Valerie.

But I fear you do not care,
Valerie.
For their sorrow or despair,
Valerie;

Since your tender fancies dwell
In some spirit-haunted dell,
Far away from earthly spell,
Valerie.

Your beloved is a Knight,
Valerie,
Fair, and comely to the sight,
Valerie.

Courage flashes from his eye;
And his mien is grand and high—
And his spirit loathes a lie,
Valerie.

 

He is tender, and so true
Valerie;
(Who would not be, loved by you,
Valerie?)

And he's yours, yes; yours alone—
Yours in sorrow, grief, and moan
Yours when other love is flown,
Valerie.

'T is your fancy that hath wove,
Valerie,
This being whom you love,
Valerie.

For he's not of human birth,
He has never been on Earth—
But you know his nature's worth,
Valerie.

He's a dweller in the skies,
Valerie;
All unseen of other eyes,
Valerie.

And you'll turn to him on high,
Tho' we lords that love you sigh,
And for love of you would die,
Valerie.