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Are soft, and light, and fair as she Who weareth them as wears a queen The crown that from her infancy Upon her head has been.

Her beauty is a pride and power, The right divine around a throne; It is the triumph of her eyes, To make all hearts her own.

She steppeth with a silvery step A sweet yet stately grace; She doth not wait to see who marks The sunshine of her face.

But there will come another time, Its coming is beside her now; I read it on the parted lip, And on the gentle brow.

When those sweet eyes will seek the ground, Or, raised, will only seek to see, What language, till that hour unknown, In other eyes can be.

That cheek will wear a deeper rose, Whose crimson colours never glow But when they speak instead of words, For the full heart below.