Sweet maiden, why disguise
The beauty of your eyes
With glasses black?
Although I’m well aware
That you are more than fair,
Allure you lack.
For as I stare at you
I ask if brown or blue
Your optics are?
But though I cannot see,
I’m sure that each must be
Bright as a star.
That may be green or grey,
‘Tis very hard to say,
Or violet;
The lovelight in their glow
Alas, I’ll never know,
To my regret.
In some rhyme-book I’ve read,
A lady bard has said,
And deemed it true,
Men will not bite the necks
Of sweeties who wear specs,–
Young man, would you?
But though they balk romance,
Columbus took a chance,
And so would I;
Even with orbs unseen
I’d fain make you my queen
And you en-sky.
Alas I see you go,
And I will never know
Your pupils tint;
So o’er a lonely drink
I force myself to think:
Damsel, you squint!
