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1865–1945

HER EYES.

Arthur Symons

BENEATH the heaven of her brows’ Unclouded noon of peace, there lies A leafy heaven of hazel boughs In the seclusion of her eyes;

Her troubling eyes that cannot rest; And there's a little flame that dances ( A firefly in a grassy nest ) In the green circle of her glances;

A frolic Faun that must be hid, Shyly, in some fantastic shade, Where pity droops a tender lid On laughter of itself afraid.

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HER EYES. · Arthur Symons · Poetry Cove