YOUR hands, your hands, Fall upon mine as waves upon the sands. O, soft as moonlight on the evening rose, That but to moonlight will its sweet unclose, Your hands, your hands, Fall upon mine, and my hands open as That evening primrose opens when the hot hours pass. Your hands, your hands, They are like towers that in far southern lands Look at pale dawn over gloom-valley'd miles, White temple towers that gleam through mist at whiles. Your hands, your hands, With the south wind fall kissing on my brow, And all past joy and future is summed in this great "Now!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TREE OF SONG by SARA TEASDALE WHEN LOVE GOES by SARA TEASDALE THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE by ALFRED TENNYSON SONG by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON WHITHER? by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON DEATH OF CHILDHOOD BELIEFS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE COUNTRY CHURCH by ELIZABETH BOGART |