George Henry Boker

(October 6, 1823 – January 2, 1890 / United States)

Sonnet XLI: Poem by George Henry Boker


To say my Love is beautiful, to praise
The penciled arches of her ivory brow,
Or those twin lights of intellect that glow
Through their long fringe with such a softened blaze;
Or the sweet moisture of that dewy haze
On her rich lips; or, bolder yet, to show
The lithe curves rounding her cool limbs; and go
Through all the graces of her pretty ways:--
To do but this were only to perform
Stale homage to her beauty. Any eye
May wonder at her brow, her lip, her arm;
But as I gaze, my pausing heart grows warm
With a strange heat, whose secret sources lie
Rather in me than in her matchless form.

Submitted: Saturday, September 4, 2010
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