HER blue eyes they beam and they twinkle, Her lips, they make smiling more fair; On cheek and on brow there's no wrinkle, But thousands of curls in her hair. She's little,-you don't wish her taller; Just half through the teens is her age; And baby or lady to call her, Were something to puzzle a sage. Her walk is far better than dancing; She speaks as another might sing; And "all by an innocent chancing, Like lambkins and birds in the spring. Unskill'd in the airs of the city, She's perfect in natural grace; She's gentle, and truthful, and witty, And ne'er spends a thought on her face Her face, with the fine glow that's in it, As fresh as an apple-tree bloom And a! when she comes, in a minute, Like sunbeams she brightens the room. As taking in mind as in feature, How many will sigh for her sake! - I wonder, the sweet little creature, What sort of a wife she would make. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLEAD FOR ME by EMILY JANE BRONTE TO THE LADIES by MARY LEE CHUDLEIGH ACCORDING TO THE MIGHTY WORKING by THOMAS HARDY PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME by EZRA POUND AT LORD'S [CRICKET GROUND] by FRANCIS THOMPSON THE TWO GLASSES by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX AFTER YEARS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |