They who see her call her fair;
Say her smile pleases; that her voice is soft;
Her cheek the home of blushes, light, and joy;
Her glance a shifting glory; and her brow
The throne of beauty and the seat of truth.
But as for me, I can see naught of this.
I do not know if she be fair or not.
A blind man just restored to light, I ween,
Would scarcely stop in looking at a rose
To say that it was beautiful. I only know
Her glance is revelation, and her smile
A torturing delight. Her slightest move
Wakes rapture in me. When I look at her
I feel in that one instant all the reach
The human soul can scale in depth and height,
In ecstasy and pain; so much I love her.
