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Poem by Arthur William Symons


Hands


The little hands too soft and white
To have known more laborious hours
Than those which die upon a night
Of kindling wine and fading flowers;

The little hands that I have kissed,
Finger by finger, to the tips,
And delicately about each wrist
Have set a bracelet with my lips;

Dear soft white little morbid hands,
Mine all one night, with what delight
Shall I recall in other lands,
Dear hands, that you were mine one night! 



Arthur William Symons


Arthur William Symons's other poems:
  1. Serata Di Fiesta
  2. Benedictine
  3. Montserrat
  4. Of Charity
  5. On the Stage


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