Her eyes? Dark pools of deepest shade,

Like sylvan lakes that lie

In some sequestered forest glade

Beneath a starry sky.

Her cheeks? The ripened chestnut’s hue,—

Rich autumn’s sun-kissed brown!

Caressed by sunbeams dancing through

Red leaves that flutter down.

Her form? A slender pine that sways

Before the murmuring breeze

In summer, when the south wind plays

Soft music through the trees.

Herself? A laughing, joyous sprite

Who smiles from dawn till dark,

As lovely as a summer night

And carefree as a lark.