A Fair Foe

There's a shade on my soul,
And my heart is in dole
From pearly day dawning till soft even air,

With love for the white
Fresh Flower of Delight, —
With love for the Maid of the fair-flowing hair.

Her mind is a dove,
And the wit of my love
Is more supple and swift than a bird on the wing;

More sweet is her mouth
Than wine of the South,
Or all the hill honey that Greek poets sing.

To the dew-drops below
Her golden curls flow,
See, the flame of the berry her smooth cheek upon!

In each little ear,
That no picture could peer,
There sparkles a jewel as bright as the sun.

Over earth far and wide
Could I choose me a bride,
And wed a rich daughter of royalty's line;

Through life she could be
But a sorrow to me —
For the Flower of the World has this poor heart of mine!