That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!
To think men cannot take you, Sweet,
And enfold you,
Ay, and hold you,
And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!
You like us for a...
That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers, To think men cannot take you, Sweet, You like us for a... |
Let's contend no more, Love, What so wild as words are? See the creature stalking |
Sweet-breathed and young, “Good morning, friends, “How the sun gleams! |
I fear no power a woman wields For aye the heart’s most poignant pain |
I Will not look for him, I will not hear |
From Elizabeth A. Sharp’s “Lyra Celtica” Her well-rounded forehead shone |
From “Love’s Labor ’s Lost,” Act IV. Sc. 3. |
Let not woman e’er complain |
I Will not let you say a woman’s part I love,—what do I not love? Earth and air |
Before I trust my fate to thee, I break all slighter bonds, nor feel |