Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/271

 Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell;

But this at least I know full well,

Her lips are parted longingly,

So passionate and swift to move,

To pluck at any flying love,

That I grow faint to stand and see.

Yea! there beneath them is her chin,

So fine and round, it were a sin

To feel no weaker when I see

God's dealings; for with so much care

And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,

He finishes her face for me.

Of her long neck what shall I say?

What things about her body's sway,

Like a knight's pennon or slim tree

Set gently waving in the wind;

Or her long hands that I may find

On some day sweet to move o'er me?

God pity me though, if I miss'd

The telling, how along her wrist

The veins creep, dying languidly