ON THE
PORTRAIT OF MISS COCKAYNE.
BY L. E. L.
A dark-eyed beauty, one on whom the south
Has lavished loveliness—the red rose stooping,
Has cast its shadow on that small, sweet mouth,
Whose lip is with its weight of sweetness drooping.
Like the dark hyacinth in the early spring,
Those long, soft curls in graceful rings descending,
Dark as the feather of the raven's wing,
With just one touch of golden sunshine blending.
Fair as thou art, a deeper charm is thine—
So sweet a face inspires a thousand fancies:
The history that we know not we divine,
And, for thy sake, invent such fair romances.
And give thee fancied names; and say, less bright
Were they, the heroines of chivalric story,
When ready spears flung round their silver light,
And Beauty gave the noblest crown to glory.
Such were the eyes that over Surrey cast
The deep enchantment of his graceful numbers;
What time the early vision by him past,
Of Geraldine, just lulled in magic slumbers.
