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THOSE EYES.
How they woo my weary spirit Back unto the olden shrine!Words can never paint the power Of the fairy spell that liesIn the speaking, magic circle, Of those deep, heart-searching eyes.
I can see them in the twilight, And they look up with the dew;Even in the deepest darkness They can read my being through.Ah! those dancing eyes of azure— Precious jewels of the past—Do they sparkle still as brightly As they shone upon me last?
Or within their olden lustre Does a shadowed sorrow sleep,Like the faintest cloud reflected In the bosom of the deep?Underneath those drooping lashes Lies a dream forever hid,Like a shrined and sacred relic, Shrouded 'neath a coffin lid.
