Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/91



OTH your hands? . . . What mean they, dear?

I, unworthy,—dare I claim you?

Then, against the world, I hold you:

Mine—forever mine!

Men have waked from dreams of joy:

Teach me to believe this rapture!

Lift your eyes! O my beloved,

Let me read your heart!

Is it true? . . . Ah, me! those eyes!

How divinely kind!—how tender!

Doubt itself could not distrust them,

Or resist their light!

Dear, without you, I have been

Poorer than the humblest beggar

Who against your door at nightfall

Kneeling, asked for bread:

I have gazed upon your face

And have felt such fear oppress me