A lady combed her silken hair.
None but a looking-glass would dare
To gaze on such a scene.
The blushes thronged her dimpled cheek;
They coursed upon her shoulders, eke,
And the white neck between.
And she was thinking then, I trow,
Of one who, in a whispered vow
Beneath the budding elm,
Had told her they would sail their barque
On lakes where pale stars pierced the dark,
With Cupid at the helm.
Anon, a faint smile pursed her lips
And shook her dainty finger-tips,
As breezes shake the boughs;
And then a quick, impetuous frown
Came gathering from her ringlets down,
And perched upon her brows.
Ah, she was thinking then, I ween,
Of me, poor clumsy dunce, who e'en
Had torn her silken dress.
I waltzed too near her at the ball;
Her beauty dazed me—that was all;
I felt a dizziness.