THE THREE GRACES.
Reading edition
I.
Her hair is as bright as the sunbeam's light, And she walks with a regal grace, And she bares full proud to the empty crowd The wealth of her wondrous face; And her haughty smile thus speaks the while: "Approach me on bended knee!" She's a beautiful star I could worship afar, But—her love's not the love for me.
II.
Her hair is as black as the raven's back, And her face—what a queenly one; And her voice ripples out like the trembling shout Of a Lark when he sings to the sun; But her form is filled with a soul self-willed That would lord o'er a luckless he; Pride reigns in her breast, like snow in a nest, And—her love's not the love for me.
III.
Her hair—what mind I the tint of her hair, When her eyes are the tenderest blue; And her loving face bears many a grace Lit up with a sunny hue? When I find—O I find, that her heart is kind— That she goes not abroad to see The World—or be seen. Her love, I ween, Is the love that was made for me.