Love-Sonnets by Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
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| XXIV. |
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| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| XXXIV. | XXXIV.
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| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
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| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
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| L. |
| LI. |
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| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
 | Love-Sonnets |  |
42
XXXIV.
[Thy picture's lips of mute and moveless art]
Thy picture's lips of mute and moveless artAre unto me an eloquent despair.
I call them fondest names in many a prayer,
I press them to my own: they will not part.
No sudden laughters from their stillness start,
No fluttering chase of words through the bright air
Breaks from their fencèd covert; yet they wear
The very language of thy love-taught heart.
Music that ere it can be hearkened dies,
A sweetness half-suspected in the brain:—
So the faint Arab lifting his weak eyes
Sees like a cruel laughter mocking rise
The glitter of shining water along the plain,
And phantom palms that beckon from the skies.
| Love-Sonnets | |