Yet in her eyes
A shadow lies
    Of bygone mirth;
And still she seems
To walk in dreams,
    And not on earth.

Some men may hold
That hair of gold
    Is lovelier
Than darker sheen:
They have not seen
    My lady’s hair.

Her eyes are bright,
Her bosom white
    As the sea foam
On sharp rocks sprayed;
Her mouth is made
    Of honeycomb.

And whoso seeks
In her dusk cheeks
    May see Love’s sign—
A blush that glows
Like a red rose
    Beneath brown wine.