The Language of the Eyes
Those eyes—those eyes—how full of Heaven they are!
When the calm twilight leaves the heaven most holy;
Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star
Did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?
Tell me, belovèd eyes!
Was it from yonder orb that ever by
The quiet moon, like Hope by Patience, hovers,
The star to which hath sped so many a sigh,
Since lutes in Lesbos hallow’d it to Lovers?
Was that your Fount, sweet Eyes?
Ye Sibyl books, in which the truths foretold
Inspire the Heart, your dreaming priest, with gladness,
Bright Alchemists that turn to thoughts of gold
The leaden cares ye steal away from sadness,
Teach only me, sweet Eyes!
Hush! when I ask ye how, at length, to gain
The cell where Love, the sleeper, yet lies hidden,
Loose not those arch lips from their rosy chain;
Be every answer, save your own, forbidden—
Feelings are words for Eyes!