Classic Poem

Hands that I loved long years ago —
Dear hands.
Caressive as the desert breezes blow,
They call to me across the sands,
Across the waste, wild prairie lands;
For once they were my own
To kiss and fondle and entwine
With mine.

My fragrant flow'rs the summer suns had sown,
Pink-petalled finger-tips
(Heaven to my lips!)
Sweet violet veins that trace
And keep the pressure of a lost embrace.
They were such white hands,
Pale as the new-lain snow on winter lands;
Dear hands of my delight,
They call to me thro'out the moonless night —
Hands that caressed me long ago —
I love you so!