"To C—" by John Rollin Ridge
Of youth's bright dreams and fancies,
When life was full of pleasant ways,
And all its scenes seemed romances.
Thou mind'st me of the angel-forms
That thronged the heaven above me,
As lay I midst the summer's charms,
And deemed that one might love me.
Thou hast her fine and airy shape,
Her brow of tranquil sweetness,
Her large blue orbs, whence did escape
Such changing beams of fleetness.
Thou hast her ripe and rosy mouth,
So doubly sweet in smiling,
Where kisses sunny as the South,
Lay slumbering but beguiling.
Thou hast her step of lightsome grace,
Eve-like ere Eve knew sinning;
The virgin beauty of a face
That knows not it is winning.
Oh, for my youth time what a prize!
Too late rare girl I find thee—
My dream not I must realize—
No bond of mine can bind thee.