Achsa White Sprague

Nov. 17, 1827 - Jul. 6, 1862


They Tell Me Thou Art Beautiful

by Achsa White Sprague

They tell me thou art beautiful,
Thy forehead white as snow,
While wave on wave around thy head
The glossy ringlets flow;
And that thou hast an eye of fire,
In which the soul of Song
Sits mirrored deep, around whose throne
A thousand fancies throng.

That thine is such a queenly form,
And thine such queenly face,
That every heart in homage bends,
As in some sacred place.
And that this casket beautiful
Holds something brighter far, --
A true and lofty, earnest soul, --
As Evening holds her star.

I dare not meet thee! I might stand
Heart-proof against thy face, --
And I might look, and but admire
Thy dignity and grace;
But I should bend idolatrous
Before thy matchless soul,
I could not catch its burning glance,
And yet remain heart-whole.

I worship at the shrine of thought, --
Of genius, power and mind, --
And well I know thy wondrous spell
My every sense would bind.
I know 'tis weak -- when comes the foe --
And coward-like to flee;
But all have bowed to thee in vain --
There's left but flight for me!


The Poet And Other Poems.
Copyright 1864
Boston: William White And Co.,
158 Washington Street.