Judith

O her eyes are amber-fine--
  Dark and deep as wells of wine,
  While her smile is like the noon
  Splendor of a day of June.
  If she sorrow--lo! her face
  It is like a flowery space
  In bright meadows, overlaid
  With light clouds and lulled with shade
  If she laugh--it is the trill
  Of the wayward whippoorwill
  Over upland pastures, heard
  Echoed by the mocking-bird
  In dim thickets dense with bloom
  And blurred cloyings of perfume.
  If she sigh--a zephyr swells
  Over odorous asphodels
  And wan lilies in lush plots
  Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.
  Then, the soft touch of her hand--
  Takes all breath to understand
  What to liken it thereto!--
  Never roseleaf rinsed with dew
  Might slip soother-suave than slips
  Her slow palm, the while her lips
  Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss
  Sweet as heated honey is.