I have roamed ’mid the Northern wastes of snow,
And strayed where the soft magnolias blow,
But I never gazed on a face as bright
As thine, sweet spirit of young delight.
Beautiful girl, thou art bright and fair
As an angel-shape in the moonlight air,
No shadow rests on thy brow of snow
Save that of thy tresses drooping low,
Love’s own dear light is wandering oft
O’er thy gentle lip of carmine soft,