HER GIFTS
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igh grace, the dower of queens; and therewithalSome wood-born wonder's sweet simplicity;A glance like water brimming with the skyOr hyacinth-light where forest-shadows fall;Such thrilling pallor of cheek as doth enthralThe heart; a mouth whose passionate forms implyAll music and all silence held thereby;Deep golden locks, her sovereign coronal;A round reared neck, meet column of Love's shrineTo cling to when the heart takes sanctuary;Hands which for ever at Love's bidding be,And soft-stirred feet still answering to his sign:--These are her gifts, as tongue may tell them o'er.Breathe low her name, my soul; for that means more.
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