She Is Neither Pink Nor Pale, And She Never Will Be All Mine; She Learned Her Hands In A Fairy-Tale, And Her Mouth On A Valentine. She Has More Hair Than She Needs; In The Sun 'Tis A Woe To Me! And Her Voice Is A String Of Colored Beads, Or Steps Leading Into The Sea. She Loves Me All That She Can, And Her Ways To My Ways Resign; But She Was Not Made For Any Man, And She Never Will Be All Mine.