This little poem, with its play
upon the lady-love's name, can find a place here, although many
readers are already familiar with it.
TO THE IDOL OF MINE EYES AND THE DELIGHT OF MINE
HEART,
ANNE HATHAWAY
Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng,
With love's sweet notes to grace your song,
To pierce the heart with thrilling lay,
Listen to mine Anne Hathaway!
She hath a way to sing so clear,
Phoebus might wond'ring stop to hear;
To melt the sad, make blithe the gay,
And nature charm, Anne hath a way:
She hath a way,
Anne Hathaway,
To breathe delight Anne hath a way.
When envy's breath and rancorous tooth
Do soil and bite fair worth and truth,
And merit to distress betray,
To soothe the heart Anne hath a way;
She hath a way to chase despair,
To heal all grief, to cure all care,
Turn foulest night to fairest day:
Thou know'st, fond heart, Anne hath a way,
She hath a way,
Anne Hathaway,
To make grief bliss Anne hath a way.
Talk not of gems, the orient list,
The diamond, topaz, amethyst,
The emerald mild, the ruby gay;
Talk of my gem, Anne Hathaway!
She hath a way, with her bright eye,
Their various lustre to defy,
The jewel she and the foil they,
So sweet to look Anne hath a way.
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