That they are brown, no man will dare to say He knows. And yet I think that no man's look Ever those depths of light and shade forsook, Until their gentle pain warned him away. Of all sweet things I know but one which may Be likened to her eyes. When, in deep nook Of some green field, the water of a brook Makes lingering, whirling eddy in its way, Round soft drowned leaves; and in a flash of sun They turn to gold, until the ripples run Now brown, now yellow, changing as by some Swift spell. I know not with what body come The saints. But this I know, my Paradise Will mean the resurrection of her eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE RHINE by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES THE REEDS by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT THE OLD HOUSE by GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN TO ROBERT BURNS; AN EPISTLE ON INSTINCT by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES MY KATE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |