Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/107



There are some faces, rarely met,
 * That weave a weird and winsome spell,

Just as the songs we ne’er forget
 * Of Kubla Khan and Christabel;

And these—so strange and fine—eclipse
 * The silken swarm of rosebud dyes—

Though silence loiters on the lips,
 * Sad poems warble with the eyes.

And such a face, sweet child, is thine,
 * Thine in the blossom of thy days—

Ah! woe is me! that love of mine
 * Should nestle in that magic gaze!

We met but once, and ’mid my brain
 * The flames of sorcery arise—

Oh! should we ever meet again,
 * Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes!