“‘Thou art no child of fancy—thou
The very look dost wear
That gave enchantment to a brow,
Wreathed with luxuriant hair—
Lips of the morn, embalmed in dew,
And eyes of evening’s starry blue,
Of all that e’er enjoyed the sun,
Thou art the image of but one!
“‘And who was she in virgin prime
And May of womanhood,