The False Maid

She is born of noble stem,
Fairer than the fairest gem
Which upon her robe doth shine,
Graceful, beautiful, divine.
What avails it all to me?
She is false as false can be!

She has eyes like damsons black,
Shining like the comet's track;
Mouth of witchery—lightning glance—
Heaven is in her countenance.
What avails it all to me?
She is false as false can be!

Neck of alabaster, lips
Crimson roses to eclipse,
Chin of marble's smoothest glow,
Shoulders piled of purest snow.
What avails it all to me?
She is false as false can be!

Fair when distant, fair when near,
Fair her smile, and fair her tear;
Fair when bending, fair erect—
Unadorn'd, or gem-bedeck'd.
What avails it all to me?
She is false as false can be!

She has wit, and song, and sense—
Mirth and sport and eloquence;
She has smiles of ecstasy—
Grace and beauty's treasury.
What avails it all to me?
She is false as false can be!

I have been on Pindus hill,
I have heard her music fill—
Fill with glory heaven and earth—
Ne'er such glorious songs had birth.
What avails it all to me?
She is false as false can be!