Classic Poem

DARK-EYED beauty of the South!
Mistress of the rosy mouth!
Doth thy heart desert its duty?
Doth thy blood belie thy beauty?
Art thou false? or art thou cold?
Art thou sworn to wed for gold?

On thy forehead sitteth pride,
Crowned with scorn and falcon-eyed;
But beneath, methinks, thou twinest
Silken smiles that seem divinest.
Can such smiles be false and cold?
Canst thou — wilt thou wed for gold?

We, who dwell on Northern earth,
Fill the frozen air with mirth, —
Soar upon the wings of laughter,
(Though we droop the moment after:)
But through all our regions cold,
None will sell their hearts for gold.