Your hands--they are strangely fair!
O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,--Fair--for the witchery of the
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager, acquisitive
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!
Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the
And fetter the heart under such a
As only the strength of my love understands--My passionate love for your beautiful hands.
As I remember the first fair
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
And said "I could die for a hand like this!"Little I dreamed love's fullness
Had to ripen when eyes were
And prayers were vain in their wild
For one warm touch of your beautiful hands.. . . . . . . . .
Beautiful Hands!--O Beautiful Hands!
Could you reach out of the alien
Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night,
Only a touch--were it ever so light--My heart were soothed, and my weary
Would lull itself into rest again;
For there is no solace the world
Like the caress of your beautiful hands.
