ORCHIS 
A Belle. 
She is flitting like a fairy 
Through the mazes of the dance,— 
Like a fairy, wild and airy, 
And I cannot win her glance ! 
She has braided many a jewel 
In those waves of auburn hair, 
Oh! fickle, false, and cruel! 
Dost thou see my deep despair? 
She has lost the rose I gave her, 
On her virgin zone to rest; 
And a ruby’s light doth waver 
On the snow-swell of her breast. 
Ah! the gem is wealth’s proud token, 
And its glare has won her eye; 
While the love the rose has spoken, 
She has cast unheeded by. 
Fanny Fay. 
