Eyes
My heart is sick because of all the eyes
That look upon you drinkingly.
They almost touch you with their fever look!
O keep your beauty like a mystic gem,
Clear-surfaced—give no fibre grain of hold
To those prehensile amorous bold eyes!
My heart is sick!
O love, let not my heart
Corrupt the flower of your liberty—
Go spend your beauty like the summer sky
That makes a radius of every glance,
And with your morning color light them all!