I trace the glass with quiet sighs,

Where lovely visions taunt my eyes—

A face like starlight, soft and fair,

A crown of silk for golden hair.
If beauty dwelt within my hold,

Would time be kind?
Would hearts grow bold?

Would sorrow fade like mist at dawn,
If I were lovely, would love stay drawn?
But mirror-me, so plain, so small,

Knows longing builds the highest wall—

For grace is more than shape or hue, 

Yet still… I ache to taste it too.