O her eyes are amber-fine-- <br />Dark and deep as wells of wine, <br />While her smile is like the noon <br />Splendor of a day of June. <br />If she sorrow--lo! her face <br />It is like a flowery space <br />In bright meadows, overlaid <br />With light clouds and lulled with shade <br />If she laugh--it is the trill <br />Of the wayward whippoorwill <br />Over upland pastures, heard <br />Echoed by the mocking-bird <br />In dim thickets dense with bloom <br />And blurred cloyings of perfume. <br />If she sigh--a zephyr swells <br />Over odorous asphodels <br />And wan lilies in lush plots <br />Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. <br />Then, the soft touch of her hand-- <br />Takes all breath to understand <br />What to liken it thereto!-- <br />Never roseleaf rinsed with dew <br />Might slip soother-suave than slips <br />Her slow palm, the while her lips <br />Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss <br />Sweet as heated honey is.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/judith-2/
