Dear, give me the tips of your fingers <br />To hold in this scented gloom, <br />' Mid the sighs of the dying roses, <br />That steal through the breeze-swept room ; <br /> <br />I would have you but lightly touch me, <br />A phantom might stir the dress, <br />In its passing, of some lost lover <br />With just such a faint caress; <br /> <br />Or a butterfly wan with summer <br />Brush thus with his down-flecked wings <br />The bells of the altar lilies <br />He touches, and lightly rings. <br /> <br />So give me the tips of your fingers, <br />Not your hand, lest I break the spell <br />Of the moment with too much passion, <br />And lose what I love so well.<br /><br />Radclyffe Hall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-twilight-fancy/
