Her Picture

Fair face the Greeks had worshipped, have you come
With me to make your home?
You look at me with those deep, haunting eyes,
And all my life replies.

The silence thrills with vague, bewitching tone;
I am no more alone:
I who have sat upon the shore of Time,
Coaxing my lute to rhyme,

Feel in my heart, at impulse of your will,
Youth's eager music thrill;
And since the years have left me not so old,
Now their long tale is told,

But I can love the lovely, and be glad,
I hide the cypress wreath I had
For garland, and adorn me with the rose
That in your garden glows.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.