X
Poppies
Summer met Sleep at sunset,
Dreaming within the south,—
Drugged with his soul’s deep slumber,
Red with her heart’s hot drouth,
These are the drowsy kisses
She pressed upon his mouth.
XI
Her Eyes and Mouth
There is no Paradise like that which lies
Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes:
There is no Eden here on Earth that glows
Like that which smiles rich in her mouth’s red rose.
XII
Her Soul
To me not only does her soul suggest
Palms and the peace of tropic shore and wood,
But, oceaned far beyond the golden West,
The Fortunate Islands of true Womanhood.
XIII
Her Face
The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace
Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall
Are parts of her sweet nature.—Such a face
Was Ruth’s, methinks, divinely spiritual.