SHE moves amid the dancers,The gayest of the throng,And her smiles seem breathing answersTo a soul of love and song.Her laugh, like music's numbers,Seem from joyous depths to start;But the Eye that never slumbers,Sees a tear-drop on the heart.
She sings the gayest ballads,And plays the happiest airs,And her light and sportive salliesDrive from every heart its cares.No sigh or murmur e'er was knownHer smiling lips to part,Nor ever through her blue eyes shoneThe tear-drop on the heart.
But ever with an airy song,Or light and playful word,She mingles in the joyous throng,Gay as a summer's bird.The light of joy and beaming loveSeem of her being part;Still, angel eyes see, from above,The tear-drop on the heart.
For, deep within the hidden cell,Where fancy's fingers weave,From memory's sweets, the mystic spellThat magic dreamings give,Is an idol shrine forever,Which no power can bid depart;And close beside it, everLies the tear-drop on the heart.
