When you speak to me, Your lips are bending prayer-maidens Saluting their slender God, your voice. My voice is but a creeping slave Who rattles his little bracelets In a tremor of unspoken love, As he feels the God stooping a bit, to touch his head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 15 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 14 by ALFRED TENNYSON ROMANCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SPRING MORNING by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT SONNET: TO A CRITIC by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON ON A TORSO OF CUPID by MATHILDE BLIND TO SIR THOS. BARLOW, P.R.C.P. by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |