I THINK when I behold her face,
It is so varee fair,
’Tis best to get acquaint’, you know,
And so I gaze simpatico:
That’s how you call to stare.
Ah, she was pausing on that stair
So timid like the fawn;
And fawn-like were her eyes, her lips
Were like the flowers the slow bee sips
Upon the dewy lawn.