She Is Mine.

There's a sparkle in her eye
That no millionnaire can buy.
If they think so, let them try--
She's divine.

There's a blush upon her cheek
Like the peach-tree's blossom, eke,
Like red willows by the creek,
Or like wine.

She has roses in her hair.
It was I who put them there.
Really, did I ever dare--
Is she mine?

Or is it all a dream,--
Idle poet's empty theme
Put in words that make it seem
Superfine?

No; for see upon her hand
There's a little golden band,--
Filigree work, understand,
Like a vine;