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Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
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Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
Asleep, and waiting for the opening day,
When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
With faces like dead lovers who died true.
With faces like dead lovers who died true.
And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.
And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.
A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak read more
A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak not. They are books in which not
a line is written, save perhaps a date.
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many millions of
faces there should be none read more
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many millions of
faces there should be none alike.
There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is read more
There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow.
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.
