Half hid ’neath locks of golden sheen;
And lovely as a thing of air,
Was little rosy Wilhelmine.
With wavy curls of flaxen hair;
And forehead rising pure and high;
And breast as mountain’s snow-wreath fair;
And eyes like stars in winter sky.
Buoyant, and beautiful, and bright,
A being made of smiles and bliss;
With soul too full of heaven’s own light,