XVI.
It touches her lips but it dares not arise To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes, And the large musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry Sing on like the angels in separate glory Between clouds of amber;
It touches her lips but it dares not arise To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes, And the large musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry Sing on like the angels in separate glory Between clouds of amber;