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 roseleaf 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.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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