Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/202

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a dark eye 'neath a pencilled brow, On a white forehead I love raven hair; And you have long black hair, you must allow, O'er a white front, and where's the jet would dare
 * With such an eye compare?

I love a supple figure that with grace Bends on a sofa: idle all the day; Have you e'er thought how in your 'customed place You bend above a book? Not idle? nay,
 * Your occupation, pray?

I love a pained and melancholy look, A throbbing heart, and eyes half-closed for tears, And heavy sighs. An odd choice? Then, O book, Relate some tale of lovers' griefs and fears,
 * And lo! The odd appears!

I love to find a compound made of joy And reverie, and languor, deftly blent, Whoever has it may my heart decoy; Smile on, but say to whom this gift is lent,
 * And tell me who is meant!