All white, all light, all beautiful she stands, <br />Love in her eyes, a glory round her brows, <br />Blanched as the lilies chaste in her chaste hands. <br />Even so God's saints in their celestial house. <br />Red only are her lips, ay, red as those <br />Turned by the Queen, that happy day in France, <br />As yet unkissed, to him who made his vows, <br />Victor in fight, to her his soul's romance. <br />Idly she stands in dreams.--Ah, Launcelot, <br />Couldst thou but plead here haply and prevail, <br />Touch her soft cheek, draw tears from her sweet eyes, <br />Open her lips to passionate words unwise, <br />Receive her true kiss 'neath thy coat of mail: <br />In Love's name, I who love, should grudge it not.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-white/
