Sweet maiden, why disguise The beauty of your eyes With glasses black? Although I'm well aware That you are more than fair, Allure you lack. For as I stare at you I ask if brown or blue Your optics are? But though I cannot see, I'm sure that each must be Bright as a star. That may be green or grey, 'Tis very hard to say, Or violet; The lovelight in their glow Alas, I'll never know, To my regret. In some rhyme-book I've read, A lady bard has said, And deemed it true, Men will not bite the necks Of sweeties who wear specs,-- Young man, would you? But though they balk romance, Columbus took a chance, And so would I; Even with orbs unseen I'd fain make you my queen And you en-sky. Alas I see you go, And I will never know Your pupils tint; So o'er a lonely drink I force myself to think: Damsel, you squint!