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MARY N. M'DONALD. 375 TO LIZZIE. And all hearts do pray, "God love her!" Ay, in certes, in good sooth, We may be all sure He doth. Miss Barrett. THERE'S a charm about thee, Lizzie, That I cannot well define, And I sometimes think it lieth In that soft blue eye of thine; And yet, though pleasant is thine eye, And beautiful thy lip—— As a rose-leaf bathed in honey dews, A bee might love to sip,—— Yet I think it is nor lip, nor eye, Which binds me with its spell; But a something dearer far than these, Though undefinable. When I met thee, dearest Lizzie, When I hear thy gentle tone, When my hand is press'd so tenderly, So warmly in thine own; Why then I think it is thy voice, Whose music is like a bird's, Can soothe me with the melody Of sweetly-spoken words: Perchance the pressure of thy hand This hidden charm may be—— Or the magic, Lizzie, of a sigh That lures my heart to thee. Perchance it is thy gentleness, Perchance thy winning smile, Which lurketh in such dimples, As might easily beguile;
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 07:29:26