by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is thy name Mary, maiden fair?
Such should, methinks, its music be;
The sweetest name that mortals bear.
Were best befitting thee;
And she, to whom it once was given,
Was half of earth and half of heaven.
I hear thy voice, I see thy smile,
I look upon thy folded hair;
Ah! while we dream not they beguile,
Our hearts are in the snare;
And she, who chains a wild bird's wing;
Must start not if her captive sing.
So, lady, take the leaf that falls,
To all but thee unseen, unknown;
When evening shades thy silent walls,
Then read it all alone;
In stillness read, in darkness seal,
Forget, despise, but not reveal!
Boston: Ticknor And Fields