To read my heart and pierce my inmost soul;
So rare, so pure, so heavenly is your light.
So rare, so pure, so heavenly is your light.
O lips! fair servants of the heart and brain,
Expressing all her thoughts and feelings in
Such myriad forms of speech, and diverse looks,
And little intonations quaint and sweet
That saying nothing, mean a volume full,
And fill the poet's heart with joy and fear;
That in their speech let fall such pearls of truth,
Such spotless gems of fancy and of wit,
It seemed she held the chalice of all wit,
All wisdom, and all fancy in her hands,
And did but lavish forth what pleased her mood,
And in such tones it seemed a siren spake;
And who shall paint the rapture of those lips
When through their ruby depths there breaks a smile
Like sunlight through the rosy gates of morn,
Or like a primrose parted by a sunbeam.
O lips of beauty, strength and eloquence,
Of tenderness and power all blent in one,
O bless me with one word of gracious praise,
Of commendation for this poor attempt,
And more—O ecstacy too great for words,
One word of love, of sweet abiding love,
Beside which all life's other gold is dross.
Expressing all her thoughts and feelings in
Such myriad forms of speech, and diverse looks,
And little intonations quaint and sweet
That saying nothing, mean a volume full,
And fill the poet's heart with joy and fear;
That in their speech let fall such pearls of truth,
Such spotless gems of fancy and of wit,
It seemed she held the chalice of all wit,
All wisdom, and all fancy in her hands,
And did but lavish forth what pleased her mood,
And in such tones it seemed a siren spake;
And who shall paint the rapture of those lips
When through their ruby depths there breaks a smile
Like sunlight through the rosy gates of morn,
Or like a primrose parted by a sunbeam.
O lips of beauty, strength and eloquence,
Of tenderness and power all blent in one,
O bless me with one word of gracious praise,
Of commendation for this poor attempt,
And more—O ecstacy too great for words,
One word of love, of sweet abiding love,
Beside which all life's other gold is dross.
O face! the looking glass of woman's soul,
The full blown rose of all her sweet perfection,
The full blown rose of all her sweet perfection,
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