O HER eyes are amber-fine -- Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon Splendor of a day of June. If she sorrow -- lo! her face It is like a flowery space In bright meadows, overlaid With light clouds and lulled with shade. If she laugh -- it is the trill Of the wayward whippoorwill Over upland pastures, heard Echoed by the mocking-bird In dim thickets dense with bloom And blurred cloyings of perfume. If she sigh -- a zephyr swells Over odorous asphodels And wan lilies in lush plots Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. Then, the soft touch of her hand -- Takes all breath to understand What to liken it thereto! -- Never rose-leaf rinsed with dew Might slip soother-suave than slips Her slow palm, the while her lips Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss Sweet as heated honey is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MAN DREAMS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE LITTLE TURTLE by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY ABRAHAM LINCOLN (1) by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD TO A FOIL'D EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONAIRE by WALT WHITMAN THE BLUEBIRD by WILLIAM P. ALEXANDER THE CHILD AN' THE MOWERS by WILLIAM BARNES |