Who, since I’ve seen her clearly,

Has won the careless glance I gave

To linger, as delighted

As with some green-rimmed waterspring

In midst of deserts blighted.

[25]

What is her charm? Not very fair,

Nor luring to the senses—

And yet her frank and girlish grace,

Her lack of small pretences,

Her clear, unconscious hazel eyes,

Pure lips, and simple neatness,

Fill my heart as I gaze on her

With deep and tender sweetness.

······

The train has rolled without a break

For half an hour or more, perhaps;

My wealthy cit has fall’n asleep,

Will soon begin to snore, perhaps;

Kind Morpheus touch’d him as he scanned

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