Page:Poems Holley.djvu/55

THE COQUETTE.

How can I be to blame?
 Is it my fault I am fair?
I did not fashion my features,
 Or brush the gold in my hair;
Because my eyes are so blue and bright,
 Must I never look up from the ground,
But put out with my eyelids' snow their light,
 Lest some foolish heart they should wound?

How can I be in fault?
 I am sure where hearts are so few,
It is difficult to discern
 The diamonds of paste from the true;
I thought him like all the rest,
 Skilful in playing his part;
As careful at cards or at chess,
 As winning a woman's heart.

I am sure it is nothing wrong,
 Nothing to think of—and yet
I know I lured him with glance and song,
 Into my shining net;