Burned ruddier than the blood-red Mars.
Thy sweet, low voice waked in my heart
Dead memories of my mother’s love.
My long-lost sister’s artless art
Lived in thy smiles, my gentle dove.
Dear Alice, how thy charm and grace
Kindled my dull and stagnant life!
From first I saw thy winning face,
My whole heart claimed thee for my wife.
I thought you’d make me happy, dear: