|
|
|
|
Her Beauty
|
 |
I heard them say, "Her hands are hard as stone," And I remembered how she laid for me The road to heaven. They said, "Her hair is grey." Then I remembered how she once had thrown Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea I battled in -- the salt sea of dismay. They say, "Her beauty's past." And then I wept, That these, who should have been in love adept, Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|