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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LITTLE HAND, by CORA RANDALL FABBRI First Line: Clasp mine closer, little, dear, white hand Last Line: Twill be you who opes the gates of gold. | |||
CLASP mine closer, little, dear, white Hand— Clasp mine fastly, till it grows so cold All your tender pressures will be vain To awake an answ'ring touch again, Till it lieth underneath the mould. I remember how I saw you first, Little Hand. Against the cottage wall Grew a spray of honeysuckle, till It had reached and touched your lattice sill, And there, saucily, it seemed to call For your touch to recompense its toil. Oh, I thought the spray was very bold! 'Twixt the silken curtains soft you crept, Little Hand, and all my heart upleapt As you plucked that long, pale spray of gold. I remember how I kissed you first— It was underneath the stars of June, On that day whose mem'ry lingers sweet. You were lying on the old stone seat, Wrought to marble pureness by the moon. Cold as marble till I clasped you close, And those little fingers softly kist— All the passion throbbing in my soul, Overflowed into that kiss that stole Up where lies that ring of amethyst. Did you tremble when you felt that touch? Did it thrill you, little fingers fair? I have laid it sacredly—that day— In the wards of memory—the way Mothers lay a dead child's locks of hair. Little Hand, creep closer, let me feel With my hand that grows, alas, so cold— Let me softly feel that finger where With love's first, most holy kiss you wear Graciously that sacred band of gold. In Life's storm, and in Life's sun, 'tis you Who have guided me throughout the land— Straightly—where the path was most obscure, Purely, for who touches you is pure— Little Hand, O little lovèd Hand. It is you who held the cup of bliss To my lips till I had drank my fill; It is you who opened to me wide Love's gold portals where all joys abide, Where we linger, and shall linger still. What! all wet with tears? Nay, little Hand, Our farewell is only for a while; I will watch you from the other shore, I will wait you, patient, till once more I can clasp you 'neath God's holy smile. Paradise without you could not be. I will wait outside till I behold You appear; and if God will, dear Hand, 'Twill be you who clasps mine where I stand, 'Twill be you who opes the Gates of Gold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A THOUGHT by CORA RANDALL FABBRI A WINTER PIECE by CORA RANDALL FABBRI ABSENCE by CORA RANDALL FABBRI AN OLD MAID by CORA RANDALL FABBRI DECEPTION by CORA RANDALL FABBRI DIED YOUNG by CORA RANDALL FABBRI HEART SONGS by CORA RANDALL FABBRI IN TUSCANY: A SEA-SPELL by CORA RANDALL FABBRI IN TUSCANY: ANITA by CORA RANDALL FABBRI |
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