Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/105

 I remember thy bodice, so snowy and blest, With a violet guarding its virginal nest; Thy sensitive forehead, thy contour serene, And a ripple of ringlets, Alexandrine, Alexandrine!

We met in the aisle—how I think of it now! And meekly I tendered my sanctified bough. ’Twas fondled, thy darling, deft fingers between— ''Ah! the poor bough is withered'', Alexandrine, Alexandrine!

And withered am I by a pitiless doom, Like a blast from the lungs of the Demon Simoon; In the magical spell of a haunted ravine, Dost thou hear when I call thee, Alexandrine? Alexandrine!

On my cheek there is health, all my mind is aglow, But my soul is the saddest Sahara, I know; For thought hath not compassed, and eye hath not seen The kingdom I’m banished from, Alexandrine, Alexandrine!