To A Belle.

All that thou art, I thrillingly         And sensibly do feel;     For my eye doth see, and my ear doth hear,         And my heart is not of steel;     I meet thee in the festal hall -         I turn thee in the dance -     And I wait, as would a worshipper,         The giving of thy glance.     Thy beauty is as undenied         As the beauty of a star;     And thy heart beats just as equally,         Whate'er thy praises are;     And so long without a parallel         Thy loveliness hath shone,     That, follow'd like the tided moon,         Thou mov'st as calmly on.     Thy worth I, for myself, have seen -         I know that thou art leal;     Leal to a woman's gentleness,         And thine own spirit's weal;     Thy thoughts are deeper than a dream,         And holier than gay;     And thy mind is a harp of gentle strings,         Where angel fingers play.     I know all this - I feel all this -         And my heart believes it true;     And my fancy hath often borne me on,         As a lover's fancies do;     And I have a heart, that is strong and deep,         And would love with its human all,     And it waits for a fetter that's sweet to wear,         And would bound to a silken thrall.     But it loves not thee. - It would sooner bind         Its thoughts to the open sky;     It would worship as soon a familiar star,         That is bright to every eye.     'Twere to love the wind that is sweet to all -         The wave of the beautiful sea -     'Twere to hope for all the light in Heaven,         To hope for the love of thee.     But wert thou lowly - yet leal as now;         Rich but in thine own mind;     Humble - in all but the queenly brow;         And to thine own glory blind -     Were the world to prove but a faithless thing,         And worshippers leave thy shrine -     My love were, then, but a gift for thee,         And my strong deep heart were thine.