Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/41

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I know them all—th' endearing wiles—
 The sweet, unconscious art—
The graceful spells that nature taught
 Her darling's docile heart.

I know them all—I've seen thee lift,
 At some unkindly tone,
Those dark, upbraiding eyes of thine,
 Where sorrowing wonder shone,

And sudden tears would dim the glance,
 And then—the wrong forgiven—
A smile would steal up in the cloud,
 Like starlight into heaven.

Go—try them all—those girlish wiles!
 He cannot choose but love,
He cannot choose but guard from ill
 His little, nestling dove!

For rare, my Sybil, 'tis to see
 Thy iris-mind unfold;
The magic of th maiden glee,
 That turns all gloom to gold;—