At last I know—it’s on old ivory jars, <br />Glassed with old miniatures and garnered once with musk. <br />I’ve seen those eyes like smouldering April stars <br />As carp might see them behind their bubbled skies <br />In pale green fishponds—they’re as green your eyes, <br />As lakes themselves, changed to green stone at dusk. <br /> <br />At last I know—it’s paned in a crystal hoop <br />On powder-boxes from some dead Italian girl, <br />I’ve seen such eyes grow suddenly dark, and droop <br />Their small, pure lids, as if I’d pried too far <br />In finding you snared there on that ivory jar <br />By crusted motes of rose and smoky-pearl.<br /><br />Kenneth Slessor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/new-magic/
