Millicent

Thou dimpled Millicent, of merry guesses,
Strong-limb'd and tall, tossing thy wayward tresses,
What mystery of the heart can so surprise
The mirth and music of thy brimming eyes?

Pale-brow, thou knowest not and diest to learn
The mortal secret that doth in thee burn;
With look imploring 'If you love me, tell,
What is it in me that you love so well?'

And suddenly thou stakest all thy charms,
And leapest on me; and in thy circling arms
When almost stifled with their wild embrace,
I feel thy hot tears sheltering on my face.