 | The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems |  |
WHAT ART THOU LIKE?
What art thou like, sweet lady mine, I wonder?
Kind friends have spoken—but of no avail
I find their earthly and much hindered tale
Which this world's mortal weakness breaks in sunder.
Oh, art thou rose-flushed, love,—or art thou pale?
Oh, dwellest thou beyond all seas, all thunder,
Or rose-built bowers of endless brilliance under,
Soft haunts that no fierce storm-winged blasts assail?
Kind friends have spoken—but of no avail
I find their earthly and much hindered tale
Which this world's mortal weakness breaks in sunder.
Oh, art thou rose-flushed, love,—or art thou pale?
Oh, dwellest thou beyond all seas, all thunder,
Or rose-built bowers of endless brilliance under,
Soft haunts that no fierce storm-winged blasts assail?
Lift up thy light of eyes upon me, sweet!
Oh, are they hazel orbs, or are they brown?
Or blue or grey—and flow thy tresses down
In one rich auburn torrent to thy feet?
Or are thine eyes of some unearthly hue,
And locks diviner than e'en Raphael drew?
Oh, are they hazel orbs, or are they brown?
Or blue or grey—and flow thy tresses down
In one rich auburn torrent to thy feet?
Or are thine eyes of some unearthly hue,
And locks diviner than e'en Raphael drew?
| The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems | |