 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
207
THE BLIND MAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS LOVE.
There is a beauty in the mind,
That makes thee fair to me,
Sweet Mary Anne, though I am blind,
And blind I still must be.
That makes thee fair to me,
Sweet Mary Anne, though I am blind,
And blind I still must be.
I sit in darkness; but I know
If thou to me art near,
Through all my limbs I feel a glow,
A sudden gush of cheer.
If thou to me art near,
Through all my limbs I feel a glow,
A sudden gush of cheer.
Put thy least finger's smallest tip
Upon my wildest hair,
Each vein and nerve in me will skip,—
I know that thou art there.
Upon my wildest hair,
Each vein and nerve in me will skip,—
I know that thou art there.
They tell me thou art fair to see,
And of thy waist so trim;
I know thou art straight as poplar tree,
And delicately slim.
And of thy waist so trim;
I know thou art straight as poplar tree,
And delicately slim.
208
They tell me that thine eyes are black,
As black as burning coal:
I look, but find my eye-balls lack
The light that's in my soul.
As black as burning coal:
I look, but find my eye-balls lack
The light that's in my soul.
Thy hand is very soft I know—
They tell me it is white;
But it is not like the falling snow,
Because it does not bite.
They tell me it is white;
But it is not like the falling snow,
Because it does not bite.
For cold and biting are the flakes,
The melting flakes of snow,
When the blinding snow-storm overtakes
The blind men as they go.
The melting flakes of snow,
When the blinding snow-storm overtakes
The blind men as they go.
But thy hand is soft, it melts away,
And then I hear thee speak;
And ever thy words are blithe and gay,
But thy voice is smooth as thy cheek.
And then I hear thee speak;
And ever thy words are blithe and gay,
But thy voice is smooth as thy cheek.
So well I love the thought I have,
I do not wish to see;
I will live on in my darksome cave,
So thou wilt live with me.
I do not wish to see;
I will live on in my darksome cave,
So thou wilt live with me.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |