Classic Poem

I

“I S she not fair?
Behold, how her hair
Haloes her head, and those spirit-blue eyes,
See, how they lift to the stars, to the skies!
None can compare
With her, my lady, the soul in her face
Set like a lamp to illumine the place.”
II

“She walks well, and her gown is deftly worn;
To-night, she's almost beautiful; the morn
Is like to show more plain the path of years;
But now, yes, truly, all my doubts and fears
Are laid to sleep, and for an hour or two,
Ah, foolish me, I dream as others do!”
Tell me, Sir Critic, you to error loath,
Is one right, or the other—or are both?