THEY SAY THAT SHE IS BEAUTIFUL.

THEY say that she is beautiful; They praise that speaking eye, That fair and softly rounded cheek, Its bright and changeful dye, That pure and polished brow that towers Like ivory temple high. But is that radiant being fair The light and joy of home? Doth from its loving inmates there Her heart forget to roam? Oh, is she not as false and fair As ocean's snowy foam? They say, unlike the tones of earth Rings out that music free; But only from the halls of mirth Are heard those tones of glee; They say that she is beautiful— She is not so to me. I've seen that sweet and smiling lip Give back a stern reply; I've seen the cloud of passion dim That proudly glorious eye, And on that pure transparent brow The shade of anger lie. I know that outward beauty sits Upon that queenly brow; Before its proud and gorgeous shrine Doth man admiring bow, While she, with false, capricious smile, Repays each idle vow. I know with seeming truth doth flash That darkly radiant eye, Yet beauty oft will sell for cash What love can never buy, Aside a loving heart will dash That time and change defy. Upon the thickly crowded street, I many a form have past, Whom grace gave not proportion meet From beauty's model cast, To whom the soul a glory lends A radiance that will last, When beauty's tender floweret bends Before time's wintry blast. Yet there I see no loving heart, No spirit pure and free, Though like a whited sepulchre An outward gloss may be; They say that she is beautiful, She is not so to me.