Low-lidded eyes thou hast,
But all too beautiful for love to bear:
Fain would I kiss them fast
Like tranquil flowers closing
Tired with the burden of the sunset air.
The bosom's mootful white
Is softly curved, but fraught with poignant sorrow:
Thereon my lips reposing
In long and proved delight
A comfort from their present bane would borrow.
Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com./writings/poetry/315
Printed on: October 31, 2024