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The Favorite.
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THE FAVORITE.

I.

I would not have thee criticized
By vain or vulgar eyes;
I would not have thee eulogized
By one who could not prize
That maiden purity and calm
Which form thy most especial charm.

I want a poet's heart, to read
Thy soft, appealing glance,
Who, for his pains, should have the meed,
While watching thy sweet countenance,
Of sunny smiles, that sudden spread
Across thy lips, and, passing thence,
Upon thy brow their light dispense.

Half child, half woman! the pure faith,
That every thing was made for love,
Which saved our childish days from scathe,
Still bears thy floating feet above
The thorns and briars which must tear
Those who find no such path of air.

And, surely, natural to thee
Such confidence must prove,
Stealing from every treasury
Thy proper hoard of love;
For at the first sound of thy voice
The closest stores unlock their choice.

Almost I weep to let thee go:
Fain would I watch above thy path,
The least approaching shade to know,
That thy unventured Future hath,
To lead thee in Life's sweetest ways,
And feed thee on Love's heartfelt praise.