The Nameless Charm.

(Expanded from an Epigram of Piron.) Stella, 'tis not your dainty head, Your artless look, I own; 'Tis not your dear coquettish tread, Or this, or that, alone; Nor is it all your gifts combined; 'Tis something in your face,— The untranslated, undefined, Uncertainty of grace, That taught the Boy on Ida's hill To whom the meed was due; All three have equal charms—but still This one I give it to!