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MELODIA.
I met, once in my girlish hours,
A creature, soft and warm;
Her cottage bonnet, filled with flowers,
Hung swinging on her arm;
Her voice was sweet as the voice of Love,
And her teeth were pure as pearls.
While her forehead lay, like a snow-white dove.
In a nest of nut-brown curls;
She was a thing unknown to fame—
Melodia was her strange sweet name.
A creature, soft and warm;
Her cottage bonnet, filled with flowers,
Hung swinging on her arm;
Her voice was sweet as the voice of Love,
And her teeth were pure as pearls.
While her forehead lay, like a snow-white dove.
In a nest of nut-brown curls;
She was a thing unknown to fame—
Melodia was her strange sweet name.
I never saw an eye so bright
And yet so soft as hers;
It sometimes swam in liquid light,
And sometimes swam in tears;
It seemed a beauty, set apart
For softness and for sighs;
But O! Melodia's melting heart
Was softer than her eyes—
For they were only formed to spread
The softness, from her spirit shed.
And yet so soft as hers;
It sometimes swam in liquid light,
And sometimes swam in tears;
It seemed a beauty, set apart
For softness and for sighs;
But O! Melodia's melting heart
Was softer than her eyes—
For they were only formed to spread
The softness, from her spirit shed.
