SPEAKING EYES
SPEAKING EYES
There are some faces, rarely met,
That weave a weird and winsome spell,
Just as the songs we ne’er forget
Of Kubla Khan and Christabel;
And these—so strange and fine—eclipse
The silken swarm of rosebud dyes—
Though silence loiters on the lips,
Sad poems warble with the eyes.
And such a face, sweet child, is thine,
Thine in the blossom of thy days—
Ah! woe is me! that love of mine
Should nestle in that magic gaze!
We met but once, and ’mid my brain
The flames of sorcery arise—
Oh! should we ever meet again,
Speak to me, darling, with thine eyes!
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