I AN empty glove -- long withering in the grasp Of Time's cold palm. I lift it to my lips, -- And lo, once more I thrill beneath its clasp, In fancy, as with odorous finger-tips It reaches from the years that used to be And proffers back love, life and all, to me. II Ah! beautiful she was beyond belief: Her face was fair and lustrous as the moon's; Her eyes -- too large for small delight or grief, -- The smiles of them were Laughter's afternoons; Their tears were April showers, and their love -- All sweetest speech swoons ere it speaks thereof. III White-fruited cocoa shown against the shell Were not so white as was her brow below The cloven tresses of the hair that fell Across her neck and shoulders of nude snow; Her cheeks -- chaste pallor, with a crimson stain -- Her mouth was like a red rose rinsed with rain. IV And this was she my fancy held as good -- As fair and lovable -- in every wise As peerless in pure worth of womanhood As was her wondrous beauty in men's eyes. -- Yet, all alone, I kiss this empty glove -- The poor husk of the hand I loved -- and love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAVEN; A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BEYOND RECALL by MARY EMILY NEELEY BRADLEY MEN OF HARLAN by WILLIAM ASPENWALL BRADLEY TO A LADY WHO HAD LOST A RELATIVE by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |