Guendolen
SHE is so fair, I thought, so dear and fair!
Maidenly beautiful from head to feet,
With pensive profile delicate and sweet,
And Titian’s color in her sunny hair.
So fair, I thought, rejoicing even to note
The little flexible, transparent wrist,
The purple of the gold-clasped amethyst
That glittered at her white and slender throat;
The tiny ear, curled like a rosy shell;
The gentle splendor of the wide brown eyes,
Deep, lustrous, tender, clear as morning skies;
The full, sad lips, —the voice that like a bell
Rang thrilling with a music sweet and wild,
High, airy-pure as fluting of the fays,
Or bird-notes in the early summer days,
And joyous as the laughter of a child.
Dearest, has Heaven aught to give thee more?
I thought, the while I watched her changing face, —
Heard her fine tones, and marked her gestures’ grace, —
Yea, one more gift is left, all gifts before.
We go our separate ways on earth, and pain,
God’s shaping chisel, waits us as the rest,
With nobler charm thy beauty to invest,
And make thee lovelier ere we meet again.
