I knew her, when my youthful time
Beyond the verge of manhood stood;
And she was in her glorious prime
Of freshly ripened womanhood.
And when her darkly radiant eye,
With longest lash of silken jet,
Glanced forth a double witchery,
Where sympathies and sense were met.
And o'er her rich embrownëd skin,
All richly brown as tropic rind,
The colour mantled from within.
As blushes told her secret mind.
And voice, and smile, and whitest gleam
Of forehead high thro' raven hair
Awakened in each heart some dream,
Which, once awakened, lingered there.
Mine lingered long. Till, on a day,
I met her once again, to find
If Time may something take away,
He yet hath more to leave behind.
For hers was still that darkest eye,
And longest lash, and gleaming brow;
And smiles that won, in day gone by,
Were waiting still—to win us now.
And still that voice was hers; and grace,
Which more than youthliest bloom can thrall;
And sense, outspeaking from the face;
And goodness, beaming over all.
And if ecstatic hope now stirs
Less warmly, than in hour of youth,
Some airy visions still are hers,
'Mid many a lesson taught by truth.
And if, perchance, some hues be fled,
If eye or smile be radiant less;
Serener charm they own, instead,
And win new power from pensiveness.
'Tis thus, when hearts are swept along
Beneath some master minstrel's play,
The sweetest part of all the song
Is where the music dies away.
But is the Music past and gone?
Nay, listen! for it wakes again;
A lay prolonged, of tenderer tone;
A sweeter joy from softer strain.
And therefore do I prize the day
I met her once again to find,
If Time may something take away,
He yet hath more to leave behind.
