To my Georgie.
MY cousin, I am gazing on thee now,
And well I mark, with soul of joy and pride,
The changing beauty of thy glorious face.
With rapture swelling in my heart of love
I gaze upon thy young and joyous cheek,
Where roses pure reveal their richest dyes,
And shed their sweetest perfume—thy soft eye,
Thy soft, meek eye of mild and tender blue,
Trembling beneath its dark and fringy lash,
And glowing with the spirit-dreams that seem
Reflected from its calm, mysterious depths,
Like gems from ocean-caves—thy lofty brow
O'er which the blue veins stray like tranquil streams
Along a lovely plain—thy temples pale,
And well I mark, with soul of joy and pride,
The changing beauty of thy glorious face.
With rapture swelling in my heart of love
I gaze upon thy young and joyous cheek,
Where roses pure reveal their richest dyes,
And shed their sweetest perfume—thy soft eye,
Thy soft, meek eye of mild and tender blue,
Trembling beneath its dark and fringy lash,
And glowing with the spirit-dreams that seem
Reflected from its calm, mysterious depths,
Like gems from ocean-caves—thy lofty brow
O'er which the blue veins stray like tranquil streams
Along a lovely plain—thy temples pale,
