A Woman's Charms

My purse is yours, Sweet Heart, for I

Can count no coins with you close by;

I scorn like sailors them, when they

Have drawn on shore their deep-sea pay;

Only my thoughts I value now,

Which, like the simple glow-worms, throw

Their beams to greet thee bravely, Love—

Their glorious light in Heaven above.

Since I have felt thy waves of light,

Beating against my soul, the sight

Of gems from Africa’s continent

Move me to no great wonderment.

Since I, Sweet Heart, have known thine hair,

The fur of ermine, sable, bear,

Or silver fox, for me can keep

No more to praise than common sheep.

Though ten Isaiahs’ souls were mine,

They could not sing such charms as thine.