The Jewess

HER hair is winged with summer nights,

Her brow is like the dawn,

Her voice is like an olden song

That memory lingers on,

And all her movements are as soft

And gentle as a fawn.

A lovely mild, and winsome girl

Of strange and Eastern grace—

I thought, “How happy art thou, child

In whom all gifts find place,”

Till deep within her eyes I saw

The story of her race.