Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/59

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 I know the colour of your eyes. They are grey of unripe peaches, And silent green of peridot Made dumb with stars. Open your eyes. I have never seen them.
She answers I am afraid to open my eyes. . . . Be content to look upon my throat.
He speaks Your throat is white as an Egyptian moth And curves like a temple bell. Your throat glistens like oak leaves And is cool as September wind, Cooler than fresh earth. I know the colour of your eyes. They are blue as larkspur And shimmer more heedlessly Than snow on blossoming orchards. Open your eyes. I have never seen them.
She answers I am afraid to open my eyes.
He speaks Are they as black as trees at night? Are there wings of sun within them, Fluttering at the candle of your thoughts? Are they pale brown as tassels of summer corn? Are they gold as Venetian sails? Open your eyes,

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