I  DWELT alone

In a world of moan,

And my soul was a stagnant tide,

Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride —

Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

 

Ah, less — less bright

The stars of the night

Than the eyes of the radiant girl!

And never a flake

That the vapor can make

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With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,

Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl —

Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.

 

Now Doubt — now Pain

Come never again,

For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,

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And all day long

Shines, bright and strong,

Astarté within the sky,

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While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye —

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While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.