TO AMIE—UNKNOWN.

———

BY L. J. CIST.

———

They tell me, lady! thou art fair

As pale December’s driven snow;

That thy rich curls of golden hair

Are bright as summer-sunset’s glow;

That on the coral of thy lips

Dwells nectar such as Jove ne’er sips;

And in thy deep cerulean eye

A thousand gentle graces lie;

While lofty thought, all pure as thou,

Sits throned upon thy queen-like brow!

Lady! I love thee! though I ne’er

Have seen that form of faultless grace;

Though never met mine eyes the fair

And perfect beauty of thy face:

Yet not for that thy face is fair⁠—

Nor for thy sunny golden hair⁠—

Nor for thy lips of roseate hue⁠—

Nor for those eyes of Heaven’s own blue⁠—

Nor swan-like neck—nor stately brow⁠—

I love thee:—not to these I bow!

I love thee for the gifts of mind

With which they tell me thou’rt endow’d;

And for thy graceful manners—kind,

And gently frank, and meekly proud!

And for thy warm and gushing heart,

And soul, all void of guileful art,

And lofty intellect, well stored

With learning’s rich and varied hoard;

For gifts like these (gifts all thine own)

I love thee!—BEAUTIFUL UNKNOWN!