Your voice is the color of a robin's breast, And there's a sweet sob in it like rain -- still rain in the night. Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest, The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat. I'm afraid of your eyes, they're so bold, Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold. But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis Before the sun comes warm with his lover's kiss, You are sea-foam, pure with the star's loveliness, Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beautyshorn earth, All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth: O I love you so much, not reeking of passion, that I feel it is wrong, But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh, Forever, life-long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOLUNTEER by HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH THE GOLDEN NET by WILLIAM BLAKE THE SILLER CROUN by SUSANNA BLAMIRE THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME by EZRA POUND OF A FAIR LADY PLAYING WITH A SNAKE by EDMUND WALLER |