The touches of her hands are like the fall <br />Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down <br />The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; <br />The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp <br />Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown <br />The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. <br /> <br />Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, <br />The touches of her hands, and the delight-- <br />The touches of her hands! <br />The touches of her hands are like the dew <br />That falls so softly down no one e'er knew <br />The touch thereof save lovers like to one <br />Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. <br /> <br />O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, <br />As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; <br />Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs; <br />Or--in between the midnight and the dawn, <br />When long unrest and tears and fears are gone-- <br />Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-touches-of-her-hand/
