Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/270

 Beneath her brows the lids fall slow,

The lashes a clear shadow throw

Where I would wish my lips to be.

Her great eyes, standing far apart,

Draw up some memory from her heart,

And gaze out very mournfully;

So beautiful and kind they are,

But most times looking out afar,

Waiting for something, not for me.

I wonder if the lashes long

Are those that do her bright eyes wrong,

For always half tears seem to be

Lurking below the underlid.

Darkening the place where they lie hid—

If they should rise and flow for me!

Her full lips being made to kiss,

Curl'd up and pensive each one is;

This makes me faint to stand and see.

Her lips are not contented now,

Because the hours pass so slow

Towards a sweet time: (pray for me),