I MUST not cease from singing And leave their praise unsung, The praise of swarthy women I have loved since I was young; That shine like coloured pictures In the pale book of my life; The gem of meditation, The dear reward of strife. To you let snow and roses And golden locks belong; These are the world's enslavers, Let them delight the throng. But for her of duskier lustre, Whose favour I still wear, The snow be in her kirtle, The rose be in her hair. The hue of a highland river That's flowing, full and cool, From sable on to golden, From rapid on to pool. The hue of heather honey, The hue of honey bees, Shall tinge her golden shoulder, Shall gild her tawny knees. There shines in her glowing favour A gem of darker look, The eye of coral and topaz, The pool of the mountain brook. And strands of brown and sunshine, And threads of silver and snow In her dusky treasure of tresses Twinkle and shine and glow. I have been young and am old And trodden various ways. Now I behold from a window The wonder of bygone days. The mingling of many colours, The crossing of many threads, The dear and smiling faces, The dark and graceful heads. The defeats and the successes, The strife, the race, the goal, And the touch of a dusky woman Was fairly worth the whole. And sun and moon and morning, With glory I recall, But the clasp of a dusky woman Outweighed them one and all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DOUBLE STANDARD by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER NEUTRALITY LOATHSOME by ROBERT HERRICK |