Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/283



Alas, that clouds should ever steal O'er Love's delicious sky; That ever Love's sweet lip should feel Aught but the gentlest sigh!

Love is a pearl of purest hue, But stormy waves are round it; And dearly may a woman rue The hour that first she found it!

lips that breathed this song were fair As those the rose-touched Houries wear, And dimpled by a smile, whose spell Not even sighs could quite dispel; And eyes of that dark azure light Seen only at the deep midnight;