DESIRE

I would sing thy face Sitting here in the firelight; Mid the senseless noise of guns Comes it as a flower between the flames.

Sea-blue thine eyes, and bright as hawk's are, Yet frail thy face as an image in clear water As a pearl lying there, hidden or plain, when light Wavers upon it: mobile as thy moods are Or faint as a star in the mist's milk: And frail thine hands, delicate. Hovering in infinite slow gesture, nigh speech Hesitating, poised, Fragile: they would not mar Gray bloom on a ripe plum.

I would sing thy face To forget this.... But thy face sings to me from the slim flames And my praise is silence, and my prayer.