Your voice is the color of a robin's breast, And there's a sweet sob in it like rain—still rain in the night. Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest, The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat. I'm afraid of your eyes, they're so bold, Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold. But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis Before the sun comes warm with his lover's kiss. You are sea-foam, pure with the star's loveliness, Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth. All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth. Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong! But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh, Forever, life-long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAWK by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS; OR, NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND by ROBERT BROWNING AN EPITAPH by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE CHIQUITA by FRANCIS BRET HARTE AMORETTI: 37 by EDMUND SPENSER LINES ON THE DEATH OF PHILIP MEADOWS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |