Thou art fair, gentle lady, I can gaze on thy brow

    
Thou art fair, gentle lady, I can gaze on thy brow;
And think of another one lost to me now,
Who, in rose-bordered walks, and in vine-covered bowers,
Communed with my soul in its happiest hours.

Thou art fair, gently lady, as the twin to its twin.
Thou art like to that angel, that stranger to sin,
Whom I doted on once - witness Memory's scrolls
As my heart's dearest idol the Queen of my soul.

Thou art fair, gentle lady, thy sweet pouting lips,
Would make e'en an anchorite long for a sip.
But it pouts? Even so - just a nice tempting pout,
That can put one in love but can never get him out.

Thou art fair, gentle lady - thy musical voice
Makes the heart of the listener bold in its choice,
Is't musical? Aye, for it falls free and wild,
As the prattling tones of the innocent child.

Thou art fair, gentle lady - thy truth speaking eyes
Tell of thoughts, bright and pure as the source whence they rise.
Are they given to truth? Yes they cannot but be,
Else their stories had never been worthy of thee.

Thou art kind, gentle lady, yet wrongest in thought;
A bosom whose friendship could never be bought;
Still I smile as I read in thy thoughts thro' thine eyes,
"Who wins all his love draws a pitiful prize.

Thou art loved, gentle lady, with a love warm and deep,
For thou hast awakened my soul from its sleep -
Hast broken the spell that did fetter it fast,
And called up bright dreams from the beautiful past.

Thou art loved, gentle lady - but not for return.
Not for bliss such as that draws my bosom to burn,
I ask but a place 'midst the friends of thy youth,
In thy heart - Friendships dwelling, the temple of Truth.