The Beautiful Stranger
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cannot know what country owns thee now,With France's forest lilies on thy brow.When England knew thee thou wert passing fair;I never knew a foreign face so rare.The world of waters rolls and rushes bye,Nor lets me wander where thy vallies lie.But surely France must be a pleasant placeThat greets the stranger with so fair a face;The English maiden blushes down the dance,But few can equal the fair maid of France.I saw thee lovely and I wished thee mine,And the last song I ever wrote is thine. Thy country's honour on thy face attends;Men may be foes but beauty makes us friends.
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