Oh, how shall I woo thee? With youth's pleasant dream
Of love in a cottage, by woodland or stream:
Where the air with the breath of the wild rose is sweet,
And the pearls of the morning lie bright at our feet?
Like the fays of the greenwood, there blithely to dwell,
'Midst the birds and the blossoms shall we, Isabelle?
Oh, how shall I woo thee? The days are by-gone,
When a bride by the sword and the spear could be won!
But no gallant of old ever proffered his vow
To a lady more lovely, more noble than thou:
And whoe'er disbelieves, let him look to it well,
For I'd fain break a lance for thy sake, Isabelle!
Oh, how shall I woo thee? With riches untold?
Thy smiles are not bartered, sweet lady! for gold;
Be the gems of the east worn by others less fair,
They would glisten unmarked, in thy dark shining hair:
For the sheen of the diamond hath nought like the spell
Of the pure living light of thine eyes, Isabelle!
Oh, how shall I woo thee? With music's soft tone?
Could I steal but the sweetness that breathes through thine own,
I would whisper how deeply, unchangingly thine,
Is the worship my spirit hath poured at thy shrine;
In those low, winning accents a love-tale to tell,
That should wee thee, and win thee, mine own Isabelle!