I

THE shadow of her face upon the wall

      May take your memory to the perfect Greek;

But when you front her, you would call the cheek

Too full, sir, for your models, if withal

That bloom it wears could leave you critical,

And that smile reaching toward the rosy streak:—

For one who smiles so, has no need to speak,

To lead your thoughts along, as steed to stall!

A smile that turns the sunny side o' the heart

On all the world, as if herself did win

By what she lavished on an open mart:—

Let no man call the liberal sweetness, sin,—

While friends may whisper, as they stand apart,

"Methinks there's still some warmer place within."