Poetry: The Mind

Let otherR pruUe the line Tiiut monilt's on iliy foce, Tliii'e cyea of lieavenly blue, And nieiu of fauMless grace: These chnrms I fresly own, But slill a tiiglier find; 'T wül last when beauty's flown- Tliy matehlesd cliarm of milid. Tlie damp of yoars mny qncncli Tho brightnosa of thine eyc; Timc'a cv hand may blnrièh Tlie clieek's verm ilion dye; Thy form mny !se its grace; Thy vcice its swoet cpijtrol; Bat noughi cun e'er cíTuce Tlie boaulied uf llie soul. Wljnl's beor.iy Uut u ii.wef Tiiut blooiris in öminer'a ray; When pounS i.llé winlry a ,owcr Ili charmj will lade awy: The inind'a o rich pcrfunie The wiotor óintiot chül; Tne il'iunr luny Iosq its bloorh, But frègrilce lintrs still. Starp gem 'he VHiikof licavcn When diy" la.-t liut-s iJecliup; As darker grow (hc even, With brijfhter ays thoy sliine : Thu, in iho ngh of yèafï, When oth's gy lihl is o'er, More biiyhi the soul jippear--, Tlir.n ei e it ehone bdo'p.' The loaviff, wlie anttithn blustero, Furu:ike the tréc and ilie, But fallinjj, btiow' neb ciusteis Of fiiiitug to tiie eye: Tinis iune, in living, fnnlciiua Thv bpiniiy, but disultiys A charu) that uil o'ennatiiies'-A soul that ne'er deays.