Judith.

O her eyes are amber-fine -         Dark and deep as wells of wine,         While her smile is like the noon         Splendor of a day of June.         If she sorrow - lo! her face         It is like a flowery space         In bright meadows, overlaid         With light clouds and lulled with shade         If she laugh - it is the trill         Of the wayward whippoorwill         Over upland pastures, heard         Echoed by the mocking-bird         In dim thickets dense with bloom         And blurred cloyings of perfume.         If she sigh - a zephyr swells         Over odorous asphodels         And wan lilies in lush plots         Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.         Then, the soft touch of her hand -         Takes all breath to understand         What to liken it thereto! -         Never roseleaf rinsed with dew         Might slip soother-suave than slips         Her slow palm, the while her lips         Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss         Sweet as heated honey is.