Page:A channel passage and other poems (IA channelpassageot00swinrich).pdf/193

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A CLASP OF HANDS
179

III

Two flower-soft fists of conquering clutch,

Two creased and dimpled wrists,
That match, if mottled overmuch,
Two flower-soft fists—

What heart of man dare hold the lists
Against such odds and such
Sweet vantage as no strength resists?

Our strength is all a broken crutch,
Our eyes are dim with mists,
Our hearts are prisoners as we touch
Two flower-soft fists.

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