It is not for her even brow
And shining yellow hair,
But it is for her tender eyes
I think my love so fair:
Her tell-tale eyes that smile and weep
As frankly as they wake and sleep.

It is not for her rounded cheek
I love and fain would win,
But it is for the blush that comes
Straight from the heart within :
The honest blush of maiden shame
That blushes without thought of blame.

So in my dreams I never hear
Her song, although she sings
As if a choir of spirits swept
From earth with throbbing wings:
I only hear the simple voice
Whose love makes many hearts rejoice.