Between
the
hands,
between
the
brows,
Between
the lips
of
Love-Lily,
A spirit
is born
whose
birth
endows
My
blood
with
fire to
burn
through
me;
Who
breathes
upon my
gazing
eyes,
Who
laughs
and
murmurs
in mine
ear,
At whose
least
touch my
colour
flies,
And
whom my
life
grows
faint to
hear.
Within
the
voice,
within
the
heart,
Within
the mind
of
Love-Lily,
A spirit
is born
who
lifts
apart
His
tremulous
wings
and
looks at
me;
Who on
my mouth
his
finger
lays,
And
shows,
while
whispering
lutes
confer,
That
Eden of
Love's
watered
ways
Whose
winds
and
spirits
worship
her.
Brows,
hands,
and lips,
heart,
mind,
and
voice,
Kisses
and
words of
Love-Lily,—
Oh! bid
me with
your joy
rejoice
Till
riotous
longing
rest in
me!
Ah! let
not hope
be still
distraught,
But
find in
her its
gracious
goal,
Whose
speech
Truth
knows
not from
her
thought
Nor
Love her
body
from her
soul.
