HER eyes are bright as sparkling stars,
And as the violet blue;
In them celestial beauty lies,
The soul-light flashing through.
No painter, how e'er great his skill,
Can imitate her hair;
Naught save a sunset sea of gold
Had ever shade so rare.
The lilies with pale roses blend,
And melt upon her cheek--
Her carmine lips disclose seed pearls,
When e'er they hope to speak!
Her tiny ear, like sea-side shell,
Pink-ting'd, of perfect mould,
A moment gleams, then disappears,
Lost in the sea of gold.
Ah, should you see my birdie blithe,
In some lone sylvan dell,
You'd think she was a fairy child,
Made mortal by a spell.
Her voice! ah, never tropic bird
Could trill so sweet a glee;
Nor is the sad Šolian harp
So full of melody.
My birdie speaks, no earthly strain
Could thus my spirit move,
For her sweet notes pierce through my heart,
And thrill the cords of love.
128For this fair child, this fairy bright,
So nearly being divine,
To me is sunshine, hope and life--
For she is mine, all mine!