TO MISS JULIA DEAN.
61
Through which thy thoughts glow ever, as the stars
Shine through the soft, blue glories of the sky;
The eloquent rich blood that proudly mounts
Up to thy throbbing temples, and imparts
Its tinge to "the white wonder" of thy brow;
Thy ripe red lips, where honeyed sweetness seems
To hang; the chiselled outline of thy light
And undulating form, and, most of all,
The spirit of a genius that beams out
From every lineament, like prisoned flame
Shining through some bright alabaster vase—
These, these are deeply imaged in my heart,
A picture holy, beautiful and dear,
That will not pass away with earth, but live
Immortally within my soul in heaven,
A portion of that heaven's own purity
And angel beauty.
Shine through the soft, blue glories of the sky;
The eloquent rich blood that proudly mounts
Up to thy throbbing temples, and imparts
Its tinge to "the white wonder" of thy brow;
Thy ripe red lips, where honeyed sweetness seems
To hang; the chiselled outline of thy light
And undulating form, and, most of all,
The spirit of a genius that beams out
From every lineament, like prisoned flame
Shining through some bright alabaster vase—
These, these are deeply imaged in my heart,
A picture holy, beautiful and dear,
That will not pass away with earth, but live
Immortally within my soul in heaven,
A portion of that heaven's own purity
And angel beauty.
Lovely lady, thou
Wilt leave us soon perchance for distant climes,
To wake the loud applause of stranger lips,
Wilt leave us soon perchance for distant climes,
To wake the loud applause of stranger lips,
