When you speak to me, Your lips are bending prayer-maidens Saluting their slender God, your voice. My voice is but a creeping slave Who rattles his little bracelets In a tremor of unspoken love, As he feels the God stooping a bit, to touch his head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE by CLAUDE MCKAY CHARLES CARVILLE'S EYES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON MEMORY OF APRIL by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A STRIP OF BLUE by LUCY LARCOM THE DEAD HEROES by ISAAC ROSENBERG WINTER RAIN by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |