Ernest Christopher Dowson

(2 August 1867 – 23 February 1900 / London / England)

Ad Manus Puellae - Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

I was always a lover of ladies' hands!
Or ever mine heart came here to tryst,
For the sake of your carved white hands' commands;
The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist;
The hands of a girl were what I kissed.

I remember an hand like a _fleur-de-lys_
When it slid from its silken sheath, her glove;
With its odours passing ambergris:
And that was the empty husk of a love.
Oh, how shall I kiss your hands enough?

They are pale with the pallor of ivories;
But they blush to the tips like a curled sea-shell:
What treasure, in kingly treasuries,
Of gold, and spice for the thurible,
Is sweet as her hands to hoard and tell?

I know not the way from your finger-tips,
Nor how I shall gain the higher lands,
The citadel of your sacred lips:
I am captive still of my pleasant bands,
The hands of a girl, and most your hands.


Comments about Ad Manus Puellae by Ernest Christopher Dowson

  • Gold Star - 31,902 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (5/11/2014 9:37:00 AM)

    poem when it connected to love it is more interesting and it is nice too. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 19, 2010



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