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He Praises His Wife

White hands of languorous grace,
Fair feet of stately pace
And snowy-shining knees-
My love was made of these.

Stars glimmered in her hair,
Slim she was, satin-fair,
Dark like seal’s fur her brows
Shadowed her cheek’s fresh rose.

What words can match it’s worth,
That beauty closed in earth,
That courteous, stately air,
Winsome and shy and fair.

To have known all this and be
Tortured with memory
-Curse on this waking breath-
Makes me in love with death.

Better to sleep than see
This house now dark to me
A lonely shell in place
Of that unrivalled grace.

-Robin Flower