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Poem	Whence cometh such tender rapture? Those curls--they are not the first ones I've smoothened, and I've already Known lips--that were darker than yours. The stars have risen and faded, --Whence cometh such tender rapture?-- And eyes have risen and faded In face of these eyes of mine I'd never yet hearkened unto Such songs in the depths of darkness, --Whence cometh such tender rapture?-- My head on the bard's own breast Whence cometh such tender rapture? And what's to be done with it, artful Young vagabound, passing minstrel With lashes--to long to say.
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