Oh would I were the roses, that lie against her hands, <br />The heavy burning roses she touches as she stands! <br />Dear hands that hold the roses, where mine would love to be, <br />Oh leave, oh leave the roses, and hold the hands of me! <br />She draws the heart from out them, she draws away their breath,— <br />Oh would that I might perish and find so sweet a death!<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-song-to-eleonora-duse-in/
