These fingers, fairy small, could these belong to thee—
Once merriest girl in France, the proud, the fond, the free?
Methinks thy slender form
Seems with a proud, commanding air to rise;
And wondrous power to charm
Dwells in the midnight of those thoughtful eyes:
While on thy curved lip, and lofty marble brow
Sitteth the high resolve, that suits thy purpose now!
Did not thy woman’s heart
Thrill with emotions never felt before?