Two lone glad doves are sighing on the roof,
Sending in mournful notes to the stars
A faint tremble of wailing joy; the wind
Is carolling too, - on his lute low - crying
An infinite gladness, echoing round
The walls …. Lie still, dear, and rest awhile,
Contentedly, our longing now appeased,
Till we fall, like dreaming snowflakes, far
Into the void of delightful sleep….
Like a gentle wind, I feel you breathing,
And a still joy murmuring, dovelike, through your blood
In satisfied desire….
Oh, two hot stars
Leapt up in your mad clasp and kissed
The moon, now glowing o'er the window ledge,
And blotted out my mind….And now, you warm
Still thing are beautiful as any flower,
Huddled snug to me….How sweet you are!
A satisfying relaxation sleeps
Upon your limbs, all beautifully white
As ivory, warm as its touch is cold,
Beneath me, and the fragrant roses spill
Their perfume from the jar. Your moonlight hair
Is on the pillow….Oh, move not, dearest.
Unfold not your warm limbs about me; let
Me kiss your mouth, your eyes, your forehead,
And kiss your breasts….oh, hold you ever in my arms,
And passionately love your beauty not aloof….
Dearest, you are so glad, glad as those
Two birds, aloft, still sighing on the roof.
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Comments about this poem (Beauty by Bert Birtles )
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