O Lady of Kinsa

O Lady of Kinsa ! dear girl of my heart ;
With your teeth of cut pearl where the crimson lips part,
And a breast o'er whose white hills with beauty aglow
The blue veinlets wander, like streams through the snow,
How proud is her glance, yet how kindly to all,
As they halt in the dance for my Belle of the Ball.

My Lady of Kinsa ! how royal her grace,
Yet how bright and how gentle and winsome her face ;
And her eyes, large and blue, are as soft as a fawn's,
And her smile is as genial as midsummer dawns ;
And her wealth of brown hair — see its hues rise and fall,
Gold, chestnut, and fair — in my Belle of the Ball.

My Lady of Kinsa ! in silver and green,
By the sceptre of beauty, a true Irish queen ;
As she raises her train, for the dancers are fleet,
See how small in their white satin buskins her feet ;
O to be but caressed by the white arms that fall
To the partner now blessed by my Belle of the Ball.

My Lady of Kinsa ! the clover that dips
To the scythe has no perfume to equal your lips ;
And your little pink ears crown an ivory neck
Which the jewels of empire might worthily deck ;
And your voice is as bland as the murmur of streams ;
And the touch of your hand is the thrill of my dreams ;
And I glow in each pulse as I bow to the thrall
Of my beauty of Kinsa — my Belle of the Ball !