Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems/Speaking Eyes
SPEAKING EYES
There are some faces, rarely met,
That weave a weird and winsome spell,
Just as the songs we ne’er forget
Of Kubla Khan and Christabel;
And these—so strange and fine—eclipse
The silken swarm of rosebud dyes—
Though silence loiters on the lips,
Sad poems warble with the eyes.
And such a face, sweet child, is thine,
Thine in the blossom of thy days—
Ah! woe is me! that love of mine
Should nestle in that magic gaze!
We met but once, and ’mid my brain
The flames of sorcery arise—
Oh! should we ever meet again,
Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes!
Through many lands I sought to find
Some idol nobler than the Past;
No more a pilgrim pale and blind,
I’ve found thee, loveliest, at last!
At last, I scan thy warm, white brow,
At last, the Mecca planets rise—
The wizard charm is on me now—
Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes!
And with thine eyes, beloved, speak
The subtle thought that keeps me strong,
The sacred hope that fires my cheek
In combat with the base and wrong.
Better the everlasting night
Than glittering with the world’s disguise,
But while the Heaven is in their light,
Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes!
My days are dark, and still I think
To claim thee in this globe of ours—
Brimming the swart Vesuvian brink
Volcanic brows are fringed with flowers;
Together, by eternal meads
That broaden up to healthier skies,
My heart shall answer with its deeds
What thou art speaking with thine eyes!
Written in 1863.