Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/226

214

There stood a radiant girl!—her chesnut hair— One bright gold tint was on it—loosely fell In large rich curls upon a neck whose snow And grace were like the swan's; she wore the garb Of her own village, and her small white feet And slender ancles, delicate as carved From Indian ivory, were bare,—the turf Seemed scarce to feel their pressure. There she stood! Her head leant on her arm, the beech's trunk Supporting her slight figure, and one hand Prest to her heart, as if to still its throbs!— You never might forget that face,—so young, So fair, yet traced with such deep characters Of inward wretchedness! The eyes were dim, With tears on the dark lashes; still the lip Could not quite lose its own accustomed smile,