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34
MRS. WOMBWELL.
It is not that thy face is fair,
Though fair it is, and young;
But, that the mind and heart have there
Their own enchantment flung:
And beauty the most beautiful,
Without that inward life, were dull;
Without the soft shades hung
By pensive thoughts—by moral grace,
That give the spirit to the face.
Young, fair, thou art; oh, very fair!
Still, on that face appears
The sadness deeper memories wear,
The tenderness of tears.
These may be fancies suiting not;
But, was there ever human lot
That knew no troubled years?
Life never was content to bring
The sunshine only to the spring.
This poem was published in The New York Mirror on 13th January, 1838, as
‘Beauty’.
