English poem
SPRING PASTORAL
by Elinor Wylie (1885–1928)
Liza, go steep your long white hands In the cool waters of that spring Which bubbles up through shiny sands The color of a wild-dove's wing.
Dabble your hands, and steep them well Until those nails are pearly white Now rosier than a laurel bell; Then come to me at candle-light.
Lay your cold hands across my brows, And I shall sleep, and I shall dream Of silver-pointed willow boughs Dipping their fingers in a stream.