He touched me, and a vague unrest, A subtile tremor, thrilled my breast. With eager eyes he scanned my face, And then he spoke. Ah! who can tell The mystery of words, the grace Of speech with which he wove the spell That made me trust him so? I know That you will sneer, and say, Regardless of my loss and woe, That this thing happens every day; But you may show more kindness when I say, "He touched me for a Ten!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE VILLAGE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PECK OF GOLD by ROBERT FROST ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY LITTLE ONE' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE MARTYRED by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE AWAKENING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO TWO UNKNOWN LADIES by AMY LOWELL |