LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn <br />Is her dainty way; <br />Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn <br />Are her eyes of gray; <br />Like the clouds in their moving white <br />Is her breast's soft stir; <br />And white as the moon and bright <br />Is the soul of her. <br /> <br /> <br />Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green, <br />Like the voice of a bird <br />That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen, <br />So her voice is heard. <br />And the secret her eyes withhold <br />In my soul abides, <br />For white as the moon and cold <br />Is the heart she hides.<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-portrait-11/
