HOT hands that yearn to touch her flower-like face, With fingers spread, I set you like a weir To stem this ice-cold stream in its career, -- And chill your pulses there a little space; Brown hands, what right have you to claim the grace To touch her head so infinitely dear? Learn courteously to wait and to revere, Lest haply ye be found in sorry case, Hot hands that yearn! But if ye bring her flowers at her behest, And hold her crystal water from the well, And bend a bough for shade when she will rest, And if she find you fain and teachable, That flower-like face, perchance, ah! who can tell In your embrace may some sweet day be pressed, Hot hands that yearn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CORTEGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON CONTENTMENT, AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY SACRED LYRIC by ISIDORE G. ASCHER CYNTHIA SPORTING by PHILIP AYRES |