If I could choose my paradise,
And please myself with choice of bliss,
The I would have your soft blue eyes
And rosy little mouth to kiss!
Your lips, as smooth and tender, child,
As rose leaves in a coppice wild.

If fate bade choose some sweet unrest,
To weave my troubled life a snare,
Then I would say "Her maiden breast,
And golden ripple of her hair;"
And weep amid those tresses, child,
Contented to be thus beguiled.