Page:Heath's Book of Beauty 1838.pdf/4

34

It is not that thy face is fair, Though fair it is, and young; But, that the mind and heart have there Their own enchantment flung: And beauty the most beautiful, Without that inward life, were dull; Without the soft shades hung By pensive thoughts—by moral grace, That give the spirit to the face.

Young, fair, thou art; oh, very fair! Still, on that face appears The sadness deeper memories wear, The tenderness of tears. These may be fancies suiting not; But, was there ever human lot That knew no troubled years? Life never was content to bring The sunshine only to the spring.