All heaven drew nigh to hear her sing,
When from her lips her soul took wing;
The oaks forgot their pondering,
The pines their reverie.
And O, her happy, queenly tread,
And O, her queenly golden head!
But O, her heart, when all is said,
Her woman's heart for me!
William Watson [1858-1935]
ANY LOVER, ANY LASS
Why are her eyes so bright, so bright,
Why do her lips control
The kisses of a summer night,
When I would love her soul?
God set her brave eyes wide apart
And painted them with fire;
They stir the ashes of my heart
To embers of desire.
Her lips so tenderly are wrought
In so divine a shape,
That I am servant to my thought
And can no wise escape.
Her body is a flower, her hair
About her neck doth play;
I find her colors everywhere,
They are the pride of day.
Her little hands are soft, and when
I see her fingers move
I know in very truth that men
Have died for less than love.