En.Citatepedia^®.ro

It Is Not Beauty I Demand

It is not Beauty I demand,
A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair.

Tell me not of your starry eyes,
Your lips that seem on roses fed,
Your breasts where Cupid trembling lies,
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed.

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,
Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,
A breath that softer music speaks
Than summer winds a-wooing flowers.

These are but gauds; nay, what are lips?
Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
Whose brink when your adventurer sips
Full oft he perisheth on them.

And what are cheeks but ensigns oft
That wave hot youth to fields of blood?
Did Helen's breast though ne'er so soft,
Do Greece or Ilium any good?

Eyes can with baleful ardor burn,
Poison can breath that erst perfumed,
There's many a white hand holds an urn
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.

For crystal brows--there's naught within,
They are but empty cells for pride;
He who the Syren's hair would win
Is mostly strangled in the tide.

Give me, instead of beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind,
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never linked with error find.

One in whose gentle bosom I
Could pour my secret heart of woes.
Like the care-burdened honey-fly
That hides his murmurs in the rose.

My earthly comforter! whose love
So indefeasible might be,
That when my spirit won above
Hers could not stay for sympathy.

poem by George Darley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I will wear myself in the beauty of you

I wear myself in the beauty of spring
the white flowers put on my skin
the rose petals paint my cheeks
the red of sunset kisses my lips
I wash my face in the crystal water of stream
I wear myself in the beauty of my dreams
the green hopes put into my eyes
the red of my heart kisses my soul
I wash my face among drops of my tears
I will wear myself in all beauty of this world
and come to your heart
as spring
as summer
as autumn
as winter
as your wish
I will wash my face in your tears
I will wear myself in the beauty of you

poem by Ata Augustyn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song #10.

The dew fell on her upturned brow
That is as white's the lily;
The moonlight in her yellow hair,
In her hand a daffodilly;
The violet's perfume in her breath,
Her cheeks like roses grew,
And as I prest her milky hand
I murmured, 'I love you!'
She looked at me with eyes that shone
Like stars among the roses,
While my heart like a dream-bird sang
Quick in the dewy closes;
And with a tone that sweetly thrill'd
The while I held her hand,
She whispered, 'I have loved you long,
And now I understand.'

poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My mistress’ eyes (in answer to William Shakespeare)

My mistress’ eyes has a bluer hue to them
than the colour of the cobalt sky,
not coral nor tomato can compare
to the soft care that I find on her lips

and the touch of her fingertips
is more gentle than any breeze
and the colour of her hair is rarer, more unique
than that of grass, or that which metal wires can hold

and her breasts and nipples
has a greater purity, enticement to them
than any snow or the darling buds of May
and the beauty that she holds, is more fragrant
than the flowers that even roses do display
when our true need for each other unfolds.

[Reference: Sonnet “My mistress’ eyes” by William Shakespeare]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snowpowder

Snowpowder sprinkled in my hair
I reach for her, but she’s not there.
Her soft golden hair, no longer by my side,
her emerald eyes, that for me were blind.
Deep pools of green, I can’t deny.

Her skis are gone, the track is fresh,
the first ripples of pain, stir beneath my breast.
From this moment forth, I’ll know no rest.

A single tear lies upon my cheek
A silver pear; a glistening streak
My heart is broken, I cannot speak.

I can see her face within the mist
still see her smile
that from enjoyment grew
still see the pleasure
within her eyes, that I once knew.

I can see the movement of her lips
those tender lips when she spoke to me
the feel of them that set me free.

I hear her laughter on the wind
a honey sweet voice like morning dew.
So clear and still hanging on the breeze
it stirs my heart, sucks forth my breath.

Snowpowder sprinkled in my hair
Desperation, Grief, Despair.

A silent cry an inward tear
a choked-up so bursting from within
a heart-reaching moan
that split the air.

My hand she took in a last embrace
with a parting kiss she sealed my fate
my body rocks, now convulsively shakes.

The sun is bright now, sky cream white blue
but my heart is cold still, dead through you.
Our love was strong once wild and free.
Like a flower growing in scorching desert sands
the fragrance of it, captivated me.

The beauty withers
Its time is past.
The seeds are sown
Some may last.
Alone in the snow
This life I part.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Introit : V. Litany Of Beauty

Joy, if the Soul or aught immortal be,
How may this Beauty know mortality?

O Beauty, perfect child of Light,
Sempiternal spirit of delight!
White and set with gold like the gold of the night,
The gold of the stars in quiet weather,--
White and shapely and pure!--
O lily-flower from stain secure,
With life and virginity dying together!

One lily liveth so,
Liveth for ever unstained, immortal, a mystic flower:
Perfectly wrought its frame,
Gold inwrought and eternal white,
White more white than cold of the snow,
For never, never, near it came,
Never shall come till the end of all,
Hurtful thing in wind or shower,
Worm or stain or blight;
But ever, ever, gently fall
The dews elysian of years that flow
Where it doth live secure
In flawless comeliness mature,
Golden and white and pure.
In the fair far-shining glow
Of eternal and holy Light.

Beauty of earthly things
Wrought by God and with hands of men!
Beauty of Nature and Art,
Fashioned anew for each Time brings,
For each new soul and living heart!
Beauty of Beauty that fills the ken
Till the soul is swooning, faint with delight!
Beauty of human form and voice,
Of eyes and ears and lips!--
O golden hair and brow of white!--
Wine of Beauty that whoso sips
Doth die to a spirit free, and rejoice,
Living with God and living with men,
Rapt rejoice in eternal bliss,
Raising his face to meet the kiss
Of the Beauty seraphic he sees above
In figure of his love.

O Beauty of Wisdom unsought
That in trance to poet is taught,
Uttered in secret lay,
Singing the heart from earth away,
Cunning the soul from care to lure,--
O mystic lily, from stain and death secure,
Till the end of all to stay!
O shapely flower that must for ever endure!
O voice of God that every heart must hear!
O hymn of purest souls that dost unsphere
The ravished soul that hears! O white, white gem!
O rose that dost the senses drown in bliss!
No thought shall stay the wing, or stem
The song or win the heart to miss
Thy love, thy joy, thy rapture divine!
O Beauty, Beauty, ever thine
The soul, the heart, the brain,
To own three in a loud perpetual strain,
Shriller and sweeter than song of wine,
Than song of sorrow or love or war!

Beauty of heaven and sun and day,
Beauty of water and frost and star,
Beauty of dusk-tide, narrowing, grey!

Beauty of silver light,
Beauty of purple night,
Beauty of solemn breath,
Beauty of closèd eye, and sleep, and death!

Beauty of dawn and dew,
Beauty of morning peace,
Ever ancient and ever new,
Ever renewed till waking cease
Or sleep for ever, when loud the angel's word
Through all the world is heard!

Beauty of brute and bird,
Beauty of earthly creatures
Whose hearts by the hand of God are stirred!

Beauty of the soul,
Beauty informing forms and features,
Fairest to God's eye,--
Beauty that cannot fade or die
Though atoms to ruin roll!

Beauty of blinded Trust,
Led by the hand of God
To a heaven where Cherub hath never trod!

Austere Beauty of Truth
Lighting the way of the just!

Splendid Beauty of Youth
Staying when Youth is sped,
Living when Life is dead,
Burning in funeral dust!

The glory of form doth pale and pall,
Beauty endures to the end of all.

poem by Thomas MacDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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KISS ME KATE! (for Helen)

A Blazon sonnet?

That’s the one an
Elizabethan lover

would turn his
Elizabethan Miss

into a
list

itemise her attributes
(hidden or otherwise)

& tick ‘em off
bit by bit

like a ledger clerk
closing an account.

From the colour
of her eyes
(always had to be blue)

to the colour of her
hair(always a blonde)

from toes to tit
in one hit.

Sincere...not
the least little bit!

Yawn...stop me if you have heard this one!

A fashion accessory
for the gay young blade about town

already fallen out of fashion
before it had barely begun.

“Oi...darling! ”

“Yeah...you love! ”

“Get your ruff on
...you’ve pulled! ”

“I got 14 lines
Petrarchan or Shakespearean

...know wot I mean? ! ”

And a clever
clearheaded Elizabethan lady

would more than likely
(but politely)

tell ‘em

“Oh...f***est thou
off! ”

******
As Shakes puts it in Sonnet 106

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

Shakey also turned the blazon upside down in his famous sonnet 130:

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
Coral is far more red than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breast are dun;
If hairs be wires, blackwires grow on her head.
I have seen roses, damask'd red and white,
But no such rose see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, - yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go, -
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare!

poem by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Woman!

Beautiful like fresh flower,
Beautiful with rainbows in eyes,
Beautiful with shyness and smile,
beautiful woman!

Beautiful are the star like eyes
Deeper than deepest ocean,
Ocean of feelings and love,
Beautiful is that motherly heart!

Beautiful woman thy beauty is thy compassion,
Thy beauty is in patience and knowledge,
Thy beauty lies in flowerless lips with precious smile,

Beautiful woman, most abstract beauty,
Not that beauty felt by eyes
Nor that skin or hair,
Not that grace or style, beautiful woman,
you are the beauty!

Beautiful woman!
thy beauty shines
Moon in star studded sky,
Thy beauty flashes with every turn of your neck to the call of child,
like plant swing with
perfumed flower in the garden

When that beauty of heart beautifully expressed!
Where her beauty lies,
Is it in her body or mind,
Or is it in her heart soft and kind?
Who wants to get stick or bind,
That's why women race fast leaving wondering men behind!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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* * *

I walk alone and cry out under the stars.
As one in a desert I hunger for refreshment.
I have need of the coolness of some azure pool.
O, I would anoint my bosom with the clear water!
O, I would immerse myself in the emulous depths!
O, I would drink of ineffable dreams.
You, Beloved, are the silvery lake shimmering in the desert of my youth.
You only can allay the fever of my spirit!
On your lips I should drain the fountain of life.
On your white breast I shall breath the perfume of numberless lilies.
Therein I shall die a thousand deaths and arise reborn in the awful splendor of your love….
* * * * *
Lay your hands,—softer than dove’s wings,—in my hands so I may feel your young life flowing into mine thro’ your finger-tips.
Lay your eyes upon my eyes that I may grow tremulous beneath the flutter of your eyelids.
Lay your heart against my heart that I may hear your love summoning me to forgetfulness.
Lay your tresses about me that I may feel their warm sun streaming thro’ my veins.
Lay your mouth on my mouth until all dissolves in mist about me….
(Is it life? Is it death?)
* * * * *
You are as a million birds that sing unto my heart, O, Beloved.
Thro’ the long nights I hear the chanting of blithe voices.
What divine minstrelsy! what ravishment….
Is this multitudinous melody the rapture of your kiss?
Come to me, press upon my brow the coolness of your young lips that I may hear the thunder of your love in the night….
* * * * *
When will it end, the long vigil….
What dawn will bring you forever unto me, O, my Beloved?
Life is but shadow.
Only you, my Beloved, are more real than shadow.
Beneath your caresses I am as one awakened unto life.
Your finger-tips bear presage of divinity. Your heart-beats are a threnody sublime.
O, Beloved, you are as a white nenuphar lifting its snowy breast on a stream. In your bosom are all the treasures of Elysium. The scent of your skin is like jasmine and honeysuckle.
Why is such loveliness withheld from me, O, Beloved?
When can I look upon you and say: “Beloved! all this beauty is mine forever.”
When will it end, the long vigil….
* * * * *
O, miracle of love!
You whom I adore unto delirium,
Your arms are white lilies upon my bosom.
Stars encircle me when your lips lean down to mine. There is the sound of many waters falling. There is the murmur of a million nightingales,—and the flash of brilliant lightning.
Caress celestial!
Moon-path of my dreams!
O, miracle of Love—my divinity and my crucifixion….
* * * * *
When the young moon silvers the sky, the earth is ours,
We shall go into the forest and wander in the shadow of the pines.
I shall cover you with leaves, and we shall lie on the soft moss entwined like sisters.
And all the while I will know that the fragrance of your skin is sweeter to me than the perfumes of a million roses….
* * * * *
Let me enfold you in my hair.
Let me wind you as in a golden skein.
Give me the curve of your throat, milky white and rose, that I may place about it the glossy fillets of my hair.
Don it as a shining mantilla….
Let my hair shower about you until you are radiant with perfume;
Let it ripple over you like the wind on summer wheat.
Then give me your lips that we may stand united beneath the downpour of its sunlight.
Let us be intermingled as two trees that have bent one single root….
* * * * *
It rains, Beloved….
The dripping of the rain is like the cool kisses of your mouth….
I faint beneath the rapture of your lips.
Be no longer tender.
Cover me with frenzied kisses,—even as I would drench my body in the cruel torrents of the rain.
Envelop me from throat to ankle in delirium intolerable….
* * * * *
To love you like the midnight storm!
To take you swooning unto death as the wind sweeps the waves in tempest!
To transport you unto delirium!
To hear the wild beating of your veins; to feel flame shuddering your blood and to agonize you with my ardor.
To crush you as a flower upon my breast,
To bear you away to some secret valley where I would love you unto insensibility….
* * * * *
If I think of you, I quiver from head to foot.
If I think of you tears flood my eyes.
If I pass you my heart quickens to suffocation and the blood seems to leave my body.
If I look into your eyes a sudden fire burns in my veins.
If I touch you I am as one possessed with madness; my arms tremble and my limbs totter beneath me.
To love you is to suffer the pangs of an intolerable agony.
* * * * *
I see you coming toward me….
Silently you take me in your arms.
Our lips meet and our eyes close.
I feel the shuddering of your breast and the beating of your throat against mine.
We are enveloped in darkness.
We know nothing but the thunder of our veins….
We are swept out into a sea of infinite oblivion.

poem by Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff from The Book of Love (1917)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There Are White Flowers In Her Hair

There are white flowers in her hair,
blue-white stars when she laughs
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
with a own innocent beauty

with the coming of spring in the air
between the blooming flowers,
in rainbows shining like her eyes,
she finds where the prettiest flowers grow,

she is bounded to loveliness,
she notices roses that are dark like blood
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
but in her cheeks there is a gloss.

Delighted she stands at corn fields
clouds dark and white,
in rainbows shining like her eyes
there is somewhere a pot of gold.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Roses On White Lace

I saw you in your wedding gown
The prettiest dress
I came into the room that night
And made such a mess
In my own way, I lovingly kiss the bride
With your ring in your hand
Your eyes and your mouth open wide
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
So dead upon the bed
You hurt me in the deepest way
I'm crippled inside
I took your evil skin away
It's all cut and dried
I saw you tonight and carefully took your hand
With some smears on my cheeks
I knew that you would understand
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
So dead upon the bed, still searching for your head
They're never gonna find your face
It's hidden away
I found a very special place where you used to play
In my own way, I lovingly kiss the bride
With your ring in your hand
Your eyes and your mouth open wide
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
Crimson and sweet, stained on the sheet
Roses on white lace, pretty in red, dripping and wet
Roses on white lace, spilled on the walls, dark in the hall

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Muriel: at the Opera

Roses and rose-buds, red and white,
Nestled between your breasts to-night,
And, lying there with drowsy breath,
Sweetly resigned themselves to death.
Ah, cruel child! that would not so
Suffer the perfumed life to go,
But, hungering for the rose's heart
Of midmost sweetness, plucked apart
Petal from petal: 'Ah!' you said
(With lips that kissed white roses red)
'To live on love and roses!'

Well,
But if the rose were Muriel?

poem by Arthur Symons
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A Suttee

GATHER her raven hair in one rich cluster,
Let the white champac light it, as a star
Gives to the dusky night a sudden lustre,
Shining afar.

Shed fragrant oils upon her fragrant bosom,
Until the breathing air around grows sweet;
Scatter the languid jasmine's yellow blossom
Beneath her feet.

Those small white feet are bare—too soft are they
To tread on aught but flowers; and there is roll'd
Round the slight ankle, meet for such display,
The band of gold.

Chains and bright stones are on her arms and neck;
What pleasant vanities are linked with them,
Of happy hours, which youth delights to deck
With gold and gem.

She comes! So comes the Moon, when she has found
A silvery path wherein thro' heaven to glide.
Fling the white veil—a summer cloud—around;
She is a bride!

And yet the crowd that gather at her side
Are pale, and every gazer holds his breath.
Eyes fill with tears unbidden, for the bride—
The bride of Death!

She gives away the garland from her hair,
She gives the gems that she will wear no more;
All the affections, whose love-signs they were,
Are gone before.

The red pile blazes—let the bride ascend,
And lay her head upon her husband's heart,
Now in a perfect unison to blend—
No more to part.

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Beautiful Mermaid

Walking the beaches of southern earth
A beauty in my eyes gave new beauty birth
A mermaid washed upon the shores of sand
With a purple shell of love in hand
I picked it up and placed it to my ear
I heard the ocean talk and in my soul fear
I dropped the shell and looked down
The mermaid was dead, she most of drown
Her fins wert made of coral reef
And her heart was made for my belief
In her hair emeralds lights shone
On her finger lay one rock alone
Its color was like an ocean sapphire
More brilliant then an land fire
Her finger tips colored a garnet jade
Whitened there as she laid
I couldn't help to become dour
At such beauty dead, dead galore
SO I pick up the purple shell
And its conch I began to plea
‘Give her life and thou can have me
My song and my rhyme and my earthly glory'
I dropped to the sand, and saw my heart leak
Into her hand, when I became weak
She rose from sleep and looked at me
Dying, she smiled and fled back to the sea
I die not in vain but for beauty
As the mermaid lived for an eternity….

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sleep On Her Lap!

Laying in the garden putting my head on her lap
Feeling her love in this charming nap
Below the tree, garden full of flowers
Dreaming in her love droping like rain showers

Touching my hair with her beautiful hand
Giving peace to my sleep in her fantasy land
Waking in the need of her desperate love
Smiling with the sparkling eyes, my above

Kiss on my lips, Hands on my cheeks
Her beauty and love is all what I seeks
Letting me sleep, stoping me to say
Wishing her heart, Forever this love stay

Caring for my sleep in her bed of roses,
The more I sleep, The more she gets closes!

poem by Legendary Gamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Villanelle

We said farewell, my youth and I,
When all fair dreams were gone or going,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
When white blooms fell from tree-tops high—
Our Austral winter’s way of snowing—
We said farewell, my youth and I.

We did not sigh—what use to sigh
When Death passed as a mower mowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry?

But hearing Life’s stream thunder by,
That sang of old through flowers flowing,
We said farewell, my youth and I.

There was no hope in the blue sky,
No music in the low winds blowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.

My hair is black as yet, then why
So sad! I know not, only knowing
We said farewell, my youth and I.

All are not buried when they die;
Dead souls there are through live eyes showing
When Love’s red lips are cold and dry.

So, seeing where the dead men lie,
Out of their hearts the grave-flowers growing,
We said farewell, my youth and I,
When Love’s red lips were cold and dry.

poem by Victor James Daley
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The White Witch

O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night,
Trust not your prowess nor your strength;
Your only safety lies in flight;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.

The great white witch you have not seen?
Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth,
Like nursery children you have looked
For ancient hag and snaggled tooth;
But no, not so; the witch appears
In all the glowing charms of youth.

Her lips are like carnations red,
Her face like new-born lilies fair,
Her eyes like ocean waters blue,
She moves with subtle grace and air,
And all about her head there floats
The golden glory of her hair.

But though she always thus appears
In form of youth and mood of mirth,
Unnumbered centuries are hers,
The infant planets saw her birth;
The child of throbbing Life is she,
Twin sister to the greedy earth.

And back behind those smiling lips,
And down within those laughing eyes,
And underneath the soft caress
Of hand and voice and purring sighs,
The shadow of the panther lurks,
The spirit of the vampire lies.

For I have seen the great white witch,
And she has led me to her lair,
And I have kissed her red, red lips
And cruel face so white and fair;
Around me she has twined her arms,
And bound me with her yellow hair.

I felt those red lips burn and sear
My body like a living coal;
Obeyed the power of those eyes
As the needle trembles to the pole;
And did not care although I felt
The strength go ebbing from my soul.

Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
And heard your laughter loud and gay,
And in your voices she has caught
The echo of a far-off day,
When man was closer to the earth;
And she has marked you for her prey.

She feels the old Antæan strength
In you, the great dynamic beat
Of primal passions, and she sees
In you the last besieged retreat
Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.

O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night.
O, younger brothers mine, beware!
Look not upon her beauty bright;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Colourful Rose Flower!

Colourful rose flowers give a beautiful idea of pleasure;
Lips of rose petals kiss everyone’s heart with pleasure!
Red rose transports one to the world of love and beauty;
Power of rose among all flowers is undisputed forever!

Red rose is for love, beauty, courage and respect, know!
Yellow rose is for joy, friendship, delight and new bonds!
White rose stands for purity, innocence and humility ever;
Pink rose is gifted for appreciation and thanks for deeds.

Orange rose is for desire, enthusiasm and passion ever!
Lavender rose is linked to love at first sight for all lovers!
Blue rose is for healing, dreams and mystery to be realised
And is recently genetically engineered and produced nice!

Who does not love rose flowers of many colours we see now?
Even rose petals are not left from extracting oil to make perfume!

poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tryst

I raised the veil, I loosed the bands,
I took the dead thing from its place.
Like a warm stream in frozen lands
My lips went wandering on her face,
My hands burnt in her hands.

She could not stay me, being dead;
Her body here was mine to hold.
What if her lips had lost their red?
To me they always tasted cold
With the cold words she said.

Did my breath run along her hair,
And free the pulse, and fire the brain,
My wild blood wake her wild blood there?
Here eyelids lifted wide again
In a blue, sudden stare.

Beneath my fierce, profane caress
The whole white length of body moved;
The drowsy bosom seemed to press
As if against a breast beloved,
Then fail for weariness.

No, not that anguish! Christ forbid
That I should raise such dead! I rose,
Stifled the mouth with lilies, hid
Those eyes, And drew the long hair close,
And shut the coffin lid.

My cold brow on the cold wood laid,
Quiet and close to-night we lie.
No cruel words her lips have said.
I shall not take nor she deny.
The dead is with the dead.

poem by Muriel Stuart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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