II.

His loved one's eyes could poet ever speak, So kind, so dewy, and so deep were hers,-- But, while he strives, the choicest phrase, too weak Their glad reflection in his spirit blurs; As one may see a dream dissolve and break Out of his grasp when he to tell it stirs, Like that sad Dryad doomed no more to bless The mortal who revealed her loveliness.