Charles Fenno Hoffman (1806–1884)

TELL her I love her,—love her for those eyes,

Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth,

Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies,

Reveal two heavens here to us on earth,—

The one in which their soulful beauty lies,

And that wherein such soulfulness has birth.

Go to my lady, ere the season flies,

And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast,—

Go! and with all of eloquence thou hast,

The burning story of my love discover;

And if the theme should fail, alas! to move her,

Tell her when youth’s gay budding time is past,

And summer’s gaudy flowering is over,

Like thee, my love will blossom to the last!