Agatha

Were her face as dusk as twilight,
     When the soft September eves 
Darken slowly in the shadow
     Till the daybeam is no more, 
I would make her blaze with jewels,
     As the night, when it receives 
One by one the starry splendors,
     Sprinkling all the heavens o'er: 
Diamonds from her ebon tresses
     Should outflash their living light; 
On her fingers, rubies, sapphires,
     Gems of loveliest hue should gleam; 
O, but I would make her glorious
     As the star-encinctured night! 
O, but I would make her lovelier
     Than the poet's fondest dream!

But her brow is fair as morning 
     When no mists its beauty shroud;
And her shining auburn ringlets 
     Like a sun-lit torrent fall
Down the dainty neck whose whiteness
     Gleaming through a golden cloud, 
Seems a snow-wreath in the splendor
     That the day flings over all! 
O, her eyes were made to worship,
     With their depths of heavenly blue! 
O, her mouth was made for kisses,
     With its dewy-luscious lips! 
And the heaven of her caresses,
     Warm and passionate and true, 
Fills me with delirious rapture,
     Thrilling to my finger-tips.

Were her name a mark for slander,
     Hissing out its venomed lies, 
Till the world, with face averted,
     Smote her with its cruel scorn, 
I, against a mad world's clamor,
     Would believe those holy eyes, — 
Mirror of a soul where only
     White and starry thoughts are born! 
I would build my faith around her
     Like a fortress of defense, 
From the malice of the evil.
     From the meanness of the proud; 
I would lavish love upon her,
     Self-forgetting and intense, 
Till the light of joy should scatter
     From her pathway, every cloud!

But the evil tongue is palsied
     That would dare to wrong her name; 
And for her the lip of cursing
     Can speak nothing but a prayer; 
Even envy casts no shadow
     O'er the whiteness of her fame, 
For the angels guard their sister
     With a proud and loving care! 
O, I love her for her beauty,
     Brighter than the poet's dreams 
When elysian splendors haunt him
     And his life is most divine! 
O, I love her for her goodness,
     For the gentle soul that seems 
Kindred with the star-crowned spirits,
     For the pledge that makes her mine!