Page:Veil other poems .djvu/47



THY flamed cheek, Those locks with weeping wet, Eyes that, forlorn and meek, On mine are set.

'Poor hands, poor feeble wings, Folded, a-droop, O sad! See, 'tis my heart that sings To make thee glad.

'My mouth breathes love, thou dear. All that I am and know Is thine. My breast—draw near: Be grieved not so!'