Silverpoints — Poem to E. M. G.

TO E.

M. G.

Lean back, and press the pillow deep, Heart's dear demesne, dear Daintiness;

Close your tired eyes, but not to sleep .

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How very pale your pallor is!

You smile, your cheek's voluptuous line Melts in your dimpled saucy cave.

Your hairbraids seem a wilful vine, Scorning to imitate a wave.

Your voice is tenebrous, as if An angel mocked a blackbird's pipe.

You are my magic orchard feoff, Where bud and fruit are always ripe.

O apple garden!

all the days Are fain to crown the darling year, Ephemeral bells and garland bays, Shy blade and lusty, bursting ear.

In every kiss I call you mine, Tell me, my dear, how pure, how brave Our child will be!

what velvet eyne, What bonny hair our child will have!