Rufus Dawes (1803–1859)

I WEEP while gazing on thy modest face

Thou pictured history of woman’s love,

Joy spreads his beaming pinions on thy cheek

Shaming its whiteness, and thine eyes are full

Of conscious beauty while they undulate.

Yet all thy beauty—all thy gentleness

Served but to light thy ruin. Is there not

Kind heaven! some secret talisman of hearts

Whereby to find a resting-place for love?

Unhappy maiden! let thy history teach

The beautiful and young that when their path

Softens with roses, danger may be there;

That love may watch the bubbles of the stream,

But never trust his image on the wave!