Margaret.
By Jean Blewett
Her eyes - upon a summer's day
God's skies are not more blue than they.
Her hair - you've seen a sunbeam bold
Made up of just such threads of gold.
Her cheek - the leaf which nearest grows
The dewy heart of June's red rose.
Her mouth - full lipped, and subtly sweet
As briar drowned in summer heat.
Her heart - December's chill and snow -
Heaven pity me, who love her so!