Close beside her rode a beauty
Whose fair features were not chisell’d
In such Grecian mould, yet glisten’d
With the Celtic race’s charms.
This one was the fay Abunde,
Whom I easily distinguish’d
By the sweetness of her smile,
And her mad and hearty laughter!
Hale and rosy were her features,
As though limn’d by Master Greuze;
Heart-shaped was her mouth, and open,
Showing teeth of dazzling whiteness.
Night-dress blue and flutt’ring wore she,
That the wind to lift attempted;
Even in my brightest visions
Never saw I such fair shoulders!
Scarcely could I keep from springing
Out of window to embrace them;
Ill should I have fared, however,
For my neck should I have broken.
She, alas! would but have titter’d
If before her feet, all-bleeding,
In the deep abyss I tumbled,—
Ah! a laugh like this well know I!
And the third of those fair women,
Who so deeply stirr’d thy bosom,—
Was she but a female devil
Like the other two first mention’d?
Whether devil she or angel,
Know I not; in case of women
One knows never where the angel
Ceases, and the deuce commences.
On her glowing sickly features
Lay an oriental charm,
And her costly robes reminded
Of Schehezerade’s sweet stories.
Soft her lips, just like pomegranates,
And her nose a bending lily,
And her members cool and slender
As the palms in the oasis.