George Pope Morris

1802-1864 / USA

Words

My lady hath as soft a hand
As any queen in fairy-land;
And, hidden in her tiny boot,
As dainty and as light a foot.
Her foot!
Her little hand and foot!

No star that kindles in the sky
Burns brighter than my lady's eye;
And ne'er before did beauty grace
So fair a form, so sweet a face!
Her face!
Her gentle form and face!

My lady hath a golden heart,
Free from the dross of worldly art;
Which, in the sight of heaven above,
Is mine with all its hoarded love!
Her love!
Her boundless wealth of love!
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