 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE MUSIC IN THE SHELL.
Thou spirit child, with an unearthly spell,
Thy every limb is like imprisoned fire,
The burning heart of some white blessom bell,
That glows beneath its delicate attire;
Thy every limb is like imprisoned fire,
The burning heart of some white blessom bell,
That glows beneath its delicate attire;
And is thy charm a soft enchanted lyre,
Mixed in each mood as music in a shell,
That gently sways to every sweeter swell,
And bodies forth an infinite desire?
Mixed in each mood as music in a shell,
That gently sways to every sweeter swell,
And bodies forth an infinite desire?
There is a glory in thy midnight hair,
That plays about thee with a holy air,
And thy pure presence is a dainty dew;
That plays about thee with a holy air,
And thy pure presence is a dainty dew;
This gives to all it touches fragrance new,
And stealing from the stars its fulness fair,
It crowns our common lives with heaven's own hue.
And stealing from the stars its fulness fair,
It crowns our common lives with heaven's own hue.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |