To a Stranger


The visions of love are as true as the season
As true as the flower to the bosom of spring
Sweet stranger I saw thee — thy look was so pleasing
Love touched on the chord of its slenderest string
I saw thee and loved thee, and fail to compare thee
To any thing else half so lovely as thou
The bird in its music has nothing to spare thee
And thou'rt fairer than blossoms that hang on the bough.


Thy looks were so blooming, thy smile so endearing
My glad heart was happy to gaze on thy face
The sweetest of flowers in the summer appearing
Was nought to compare when you bloomed in their place
Thy cheek sweetest health in her pride did adorn it
'Twas simple and lovely as woman could be
The roses of summer had spread their leaves o'er it
And made it the bloom of no being but thee.


Thy looks were so win[n]ing thy face so unseeming
I never was charmed so by any before
The sweetest the rose is at mornings begining
But thou art far dearer full fifty times o'er
Sweet stranger I've seen thee, and love and admire thee
I know not thy name, on a stranger I gaze
As a stranger I dare not think love may inspire thee
'Tho I sing in a ballad of love in thy praise.
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