IN PRAISE OF INEZ.

Sweet Inez, would that I might pledge

My thoughts to thee with line on line,

And prove, if tender words can prove,

That all my tender thoughts are thine.

Would that my feeble pen might pluck

From the green fields of poetry,

Some flower, sweet girl, wherewith to deck

Thy name so near, so dear to me.

Would that my hand might gather here

From the sweet fields of tender thought,

Some blossom, fragrant as the rose,

Some lily, lovely as I ought.

But why should I commit a sin

By wishing any flower for thee;

Thou art more beautiful, I know,

Than all the flowers of poetry.

What shall I then with thee compare,

To make a true comparison —

The dawning day, the dying light,

The rising or the setting sun?

At morn I see the early sun

Appear with glory in her eye,

But looking there, I think of thee,

And thinking of thee, for thee sigh.

At noon I see that fervid orb

Proclaim the sultry hour of day,

But looking there, I think of thee,

And thinking of thee, turn away.

At length I see that same bright sun

Descend below the western blue,

Yet looking there, I think of thee,

And thinking of thee love thee, too.

Fade then, ye flowers of the field,

And sink, ye dying beams of light,

But let, O let my Inez be

Forever present to my sight.