Touch me, touch me, Little cool grass fingers, Elusive, delicate grass fingers. With you shy brushings, Touch my face -- My naked arms -- My thighs -- My feet. Is there nothing that is kind? You need not fear me. Soon I shall be too far beneath you, For you to reach me, even, With your tiny, timorous toes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MAY MORNING by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE [DECEMBER 2, 1859] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE VINE by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II A SONG OF PROGRESS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON ALL THIS by REBA MAXWELL AVERY POLYHYMNIA: VERSES TO LORD NORREYS, SELECTION by WILLIAM BASSE THE LAST MAN: RECOLLECTION OF EARLY LIFE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |