She has no heart, but she is fair

She has no heart, but she is fair, —
The rose, the lily, can't outvie her;
She smiles so sweetly, that the air
Seems full of light and beauty nigh her.

She has no heart, but yet her face
So many hues of youth revealing,
With so much liveliness and grace,
That on my soul 't is ever stealing.

She has no heart, she cannot love,
But she can kindle love in mine; —
Strange, that the softness of a dove
Round such a thing of air can twine.

She has no heart, — her eye, though bright,
Has not the brightness of the soul;
'T is not the pure and tender light,
That love from seraph beauty stole.

'T is but a wild and witching flame,
That leads us on awhile through flowers,
Then leaves us, lost in grief and shame,
To mourn our vain, departed hours.

Go then from me, — thou canst not chain
A soul whose flight is winged above;
Turn not on me thine eye again;
Thou hast no heart, thou canst not love.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.