Poems (Jackson)/Her Eyes
For works with similar titles, see Her Eyes.
HAT they are brown, no man will dare to sayHe knows. And yet I think that no man's lookEver those depths of light and shade forsook,Until their gentle pain warned him away.Of all sweet things I know but one which mayBe likened to her eyes.When, in deep nookOf some green field, the water of a brookMakes lingering, whirling eddy in its way,Round soft drowned leaves; and in a flash of sunThey turn to gold, until the ripples runNow brown, now yellow, changing as by someSwift spell.I know not with what body comeThe saints. But this I know, my ParadiseWill mean the resurrection of her eyes.
HER EYES.
HAT they are brown, no man will dare to sayHe knows. And yet I think that no man's lookEver those depths of light and shade forsook,Until their gentle pain warned him away.Of all sweet things I know but one which mayBe likened to her eyes.When, in deep nookOf some green field, the water of a brookMakes lingering, whirling eddy in its way,Round soft drowned leaves; and in a flash of sunThey turn to gold, until the ripples runNow brown, now yellow, changing as by someSwift spell.I know not with what body comeThe saints. But this I know, my ParadiseWill mean the resurrection of her eyes.