What!--yet another? can it be That neck needs ornament to thee?-- Yet not thy jewels!--they are bright, But that dark eye has softer light, And tho' each gem had been a star, Thy simple self were lovelier far-- Yet stay!--that string of matchless pearl? Nay--wear it--wear it--radiant girl! For ocean's best of pure and white Should only be thy foil to-night. Aye, turn thee round! 'tis lovely all-- Thou'lt have no peer at that gay ball! And that proud toss!--it makes thee smile To see how deep is thine own wile; And that slow look that seems to stray As each sweet feature made it stay-- And that small finger, lightly laid On dimpled cheek and glossy braid, As if to know that all they seem Is really there, and not a dream-- I wish I knew the gentle thought By all this living beauty wrought! I wish I knew if that sweet brow, That neck on which thou gazest now-- If thy rich lip and brilliant face-- Thy perfect figure's breezy grace-- If these are half the spell to thee That will, this night, bewilder me! 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.