Her glass yet holds, or seems to hold her!
by Robert Crawford
But now she visioned herself here;
Her glass spoke truth, and fondly told her
What a man might, a man's lips near
The shell of her soft ear.
But too cold thing that could not capture
The blush of beauty, as it were!
When a man's heart with dreamy rapture
Would at the least, least touch of her
Feel all his pulses stir.