Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/92




 * In warbling line

The music of this heart of mine,
 * ’Twould sing, today,
 * A roundelay,

For thee, ma belle Creole Althee!


 * But words are weak,
 * When words would speak,

The ripeness of thy satin cheek,
 * Or pearl that tips
 * With dewy sips

The arches of those blushing lips.


 * The floods of lace
 * That flirt and race

In eddying ripples ’round thy face,
 * Have framed, I ween,
 * In magic mien,

The daintiest image ever seen.