Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/130

24 THE FALSE MAID.

is born of noble stem,

Fairer than the fairest gem

Which upon her robe doth shine,

Graceful, beautiful, divine.

What avails it all to me?

She is false as false can be!

She has eyes like damsons black,

Shining like the comet's track;

Mouth of witchery—lightning glance—

Heaven is in her countenance.

What avails it all to me?

She is false as false can be!

Neck of alabaster, lips

Crimson roses to eclipse,

Chin of marble's smoothest glow,

Shoulders piled of purest snow.

What avails it all to me?

She is false as false can be!