YOUR hands, your hands, Fall upon mine as waves upon the sands. O, soft as moonlight on the evening rose, That but to moonlight will its sweet unclose, Your hands, your hands, Fall upon mine, and my hands open as That evening primrose opens when the hot hours pass. Your hands, your hands, They are like towers that in far southern lands Look at pale dawn over gloom-valley'd miles, White temple towers that gleam through mist at whiles. Your hands, your hands, With the south wind fall kissing on my brow, And all past joy and future is summed in this great "Now!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE RHINOCEROS by HILAIRE BELLOC CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO JOHN BROWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CONSECRATED GROUND; READ AT THE NEW YORK CITY HALL by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: GREGORY WENNER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALBERT SCHIRDING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |