Her hazel eyes with sweetness are abrim,
Like heather honey in an amber jar;
And in the lucent sweetness seems to swim
A dream of passion like a burning star.

Her breasts are like two clusters of white may
In a blue-veinéd alabaster bowl,—
And, shaken by her heart's wild beating, spray
A drench of dew upon my dusty soul.

Her tresses are like flames that flicker and flare,
And smoulder in a smift of gossamer spun;
I kindle my dead heart and spirit there,
As one might kindle torches at the sun.