Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/232

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228
La sylphide.
I saw her childish form of grace
Most lovely when arrayed the least,
A ribbon lost,—a jewel gone,—
More fair as each adornment flies,
Of all your race the loveliest one.
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!

She adds a thousand graces new
To your caprices sweet and wild;
A child that's spoiled, perhaps 'tis true,
But ah! 'tis sylphs have spoiled the child.
I see beneath that listless air
What dreaming love dwells in her eyes;
Ye who make tender hearts your care,
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!

But in her gentle childhood dwells
A mind arrayed in fairer light
Than e'er your dream-enchanting spells
Threw o'er the sleep of young delight.
From sparkling wit aloft she springs
And bears me with her to the skies;
Ye who possessed her borrowed wings,
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!

Ah! like a meteor's rapid train,
Too quickly to our eyes denied,—