Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 18

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XVIII EYES
Eyes, what are they? Coloured glass,Where reflections come and pass.
Open windows—by them sitBeauty, Learning, Love, and Wit.
Searching cross-examiners;Comfort's holy ministers.
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Starry silences of soul,Music past the lips' control.
Fountains of unearthly light;Prisons of the infinite.

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