Half full, half clear defined,
And the shell-like pink of a finger-tip,
And a figure half reclined.

'Tis only a coil of rich, dark hair,
With sunlight sifted through,
And a truant curl just here and there,
And a knot of ribbon blue.

'Tis only the wave of a feather fan,
That ruffles the creamy lace,
Loose gathered about the bosom fair,
By rhinestones held in place.

'Tis only the toe of a high-heeled shoe,
With the glimpse of a color above--
A stocking tinted a faint sky-blue,
The shade that lovers love.

'Tis only a woman--a woman, that's all,
And, as only a woman can,
Bringing a heart to her beck and call
By waving her feather fan.

'Tis only a woman, and I--'twere best
To forget that waving fan.
She only a woman--you know the rest?
But I am only a man.

CHARLES WASHINGTON COLEMAN.