Sweet maiden, why disguise
The beauty of your eyes
 With glasses black?
Although I'm well aware
That you are more than fair,
 Allure you lack.
For as I stare at you
I ask if brown or blue
 Your optics are?
But though I cannot see,
I'm sure that each must be
 Bright as a star.

That may be green or grey,
'Tis very hard to say,
 Or violet;
The lovelight in their glow
Alas, I'll never know,
 To my regret.
In some rhyme-book I've read,
A lady bard has said,
 And deemed it true,
Men will not bite the necks
Of sweeties who wear specs,--
 Young man, would you?

But though they balk romance,
Columbus took a chance,
 And so would I;
Even with orbs unseen
I'd fain make you my queen
 And you en-sky.
Alas I see you go,
And I will never know
 Your pupils tint;
So o'er a lonely drink
I force myself to think:
 Damsel, you squint!