Irene.
She that I love must know no guile,1
Must gracious be in word and ways,2
Will send a blessing in her smile,3
And give and win an endless praise.4
(Irene, you answer not to this—5
With mischief at your finger-tips,6
With malice lurking in your kiss,7
And in your love words, quicks and quips.)8
She that I love must learnèd be,9
Skilled in all art of head and hands ;10
Must sound the depths of melody ;11
Make sweet the speech of many lands.12
(But you, Irene, have no such lore—13
Your knowledge is a babbling rill ;14
You gather pebbles on the shore,15
According to your vagrant will.)16
She that I love, upon the brink,17
All innocent must stand, of life ;18
Of ill and evil know nor think,19
Have heard no sound of sin or strife.20
(But you, Irene, know all too well21
Our tangled heritage of birth ;22
The line that severs heaven from hell,23
The torments and the joys of earth.)24
She that I love must be most fair,25
Beneath low rippling waves of gold ;26
The classic features that compare27
With the divine Athenian mould.28
(Your face, Irene, is out of rule,29
Would but the dancing of your eyes30
Their flitting flashes leave us cool31
To look and calmly criticise.)32
Whene’er I find my pictured queen,33
Life sure will be serene and sweet ;34
(But till that day, Irene, Irene,35
I lay me at your rebel feet ! )36