Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow?

  Such glory then thy beauty sheds,

I almost think, while awed I bow

  'Tis Rhea's self before me treads.

Be what thou wilt,—this heart

Adores whate'er thou art!

Dost thou thy loosened ringlets leave,

  Like sunny waves to wander free?

Then, such a chain of charms they weave,

  As draws my inmost soul from me.

Do what thou wilt,—I must

Be charm'd by all thou dost!

Even when, enwrapt in silvery veils,

  Those sunny locks elude the sight,—

Oh, not even then their glory fails

  To haunt me with its unseen light.

Change as thy beauty may,

It charms in every way.

For, thee the Graces still attend,

  Presiding o'er each new attire,

And lending every dart they send

  Some new, peculiar touch of fire,

Be what thou wilt,—this heart

  Adores what'er thou art!