Her Gold Hair
Her ivory hands on the ivory keys; Strayed in a fitful fantasy,; Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees; Rustle their pale leaves listlessly,; Or the drifting foam of a restless sea; When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze. ; Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold; Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun; On the burnished disk of the marigold,; Or the sun-flower turning to meet the sun; When the gloom of the jealous night is done,; And the spear of the lily is aureoled.; And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine; Burned like the ruby fire set; In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,; Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,; Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet; With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.; 