Her Beautiful Hands

Your hands--they are strangely fair!

O 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 for a hand like this!"

Little I dreamed love's fullness 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.