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BEAUTY'S QUEEN.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

MY maid of maids, my sweetheart,

Strayed mid the growing grain,

Whose crested heads oft curious rose,

Nodding as roused from deep repose,

Resting entranced a moment's space

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In wonder at her lovely face.

Rustles the news the gold field through,

Uprise their serried ranks anew,

Glowing with eagerness, I ween, -

Then lowly bow to Beauty's Queen.

The air its sweetest perfume brings,

While cooling wafts from angel wings

Refresh her cheeks. Her waving hair

Holds quivering sunbeams prisoned there;

The deep sea's pearl illumes her smile,

The sky's clear blue her eye the while,

But changing with her varying thought;

Of earth, sea, heaven, lacking naught, -

Eye, mind, and language all too mean

To portray her, my Beauty's Queen.

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