Eliza Tucker Lambert
tell me, will you, pray,
Why that cheek of roseate hue;
Why so downcast, fond, yet shy,
Is thine eye of heavenly blue?
Let my eye gaze into thine;
Let me scan each fold of hair;
Let me gaze upon thy cheek-
By George! I've found the secret there.
Lady, lady, tell me, pray,
How you could do a thing so rash?
Found what was not lost by you,
One little hair from dark moustache?
So firmly printed on thy face!
There-I detach it from the spot;
Now blush no more-thy secret's safe.
Known but to me, I'll tell it not.