BEAUTIFUL HANDS.

O your hands — they are strangely fair!

Fair — for the jewels that sparkle there,—

Fair — for the witchery of the spell

That ivory keys alone can tell;

But when their delicate touches rest

Here in my own do I love them best,

As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans

My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!

Marvelous — wonderful — beautiful hands!

They can coax roses to bloom in the strands

Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,

Under mysterious touches of thine,

Into such knots as entangle the soul,

And fetter the heart under such a control

As only the strength of my love understands —

My passionate love for your beautiful hands.

As I remember the first fair touch

Of those beautiful hands that I love so much,

I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled,

Kissing the glove that I found unfilled —

When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow,

As you said to me, laughingly, “Keep it now!”

And dazed and alone in a dream I stand

Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand.

When first I loved, in the long ago,

And held your hand as I told you so —

Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss,

And said “I could die fora hand like this!”

Little I dreamed love's fulness yet

Had to ripen when eyes were wet,

And prayers were vain in their wild demands

For one warm touch of your beautiful hands.

Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands!

Could you reach out of the alien lands

Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night,

Only a touch — were it ever so light —

My heart were soothed, and my weary brain

Would lull itself into rest again;

For there is no solace the world commands

Like the caress of your beautiful hands.