There's nothing dark about her but her hair!
Her liquid eyes, as blue as Grecian seas,
Affect me, like a moonlit southern breeze,
From off the fields of sweet magnolias rare;
Her sympathetic soul is pure and fair
And spotless as the petals of a rose:
Her gown is like a drift of northern snows —
There's nothing dark about her but her hair!
But oh, her hair, ye priests, ye gods, her hair!
Those silken strands of raveled midnight wove
Into a Cupid's mesh, a net of love!
Ah, I confess that I'm entangled there!
But Susan's life as spotless as a dove,—
There's nothing dark about her but her hair.