To A Belle.

All that thou art, I thrillingly
    And sensibly do feel;
For my eye doth see, and my ear doth hear,
    And my heart is not of steel;
I meet thee in the festal hall -
    I turn thee in the dance -
And I wait, as would a worshipper,
    The giving of thy glance.

Thy beauty is as undenied
    As the beauty of a star;
And thy heart beats just as equally,
    Whate'er thy praises are;
And so long without a parallel
    Thy loveliness hath shone,
That, follow'd like the tided moon,
    Thou mov'st as calmly on.

Thy worth I, for myself, have seen -
    I know that thou art leal;
Leal to a woman's gentleness,
    And thine own spirit's weal;
Thy thoughts are deeper than a dream,
    And holier than gay;
And thy mind is a harp of gentle strings,
    Where angel fingers play.

I know all this - I feel all this -
    And my heart believes it true;
And my fancy hath often borne me on,
    As a lover's fancies do;
And I have a heart, that is strong and deep,
    And would love with its human all,
And it waits for a fetter that's sweet to wear,
    And would bound to a silken thrall.

But it loves not thee. - It would sooner bind
    Its thoughts to the open sky;
It would worship as soon a familiar star,
    That is bright to every eye.
'Twere to love the wind that is sweet to all -
    The wave of the beautiful sea -
'Twere to hope for all the light in Heaven,
    To hope for the love of thee.

But wert thou lowly - yet leal as now;
    Rich but in thine own mind;
Humble - in all but the queenly brow;
    And to thine own glory blind -
Were the world to prove but a faithless thing,
    And worshippers leave thy shrine -
My love were, then, but a gift for thee,
    And my strong deep heart were thine.