Arthur Henry Adams

6 December 1872 – 4 March 1936 / Lawrence / New Zealand

My Love

SHE has tender eyes that tell
All her prim, set lips suppress—
Daring thoughts that ever dwell
Prisoned in her bashfulness;
Hints of sudden tenderness
That within her breast rebel.
Till her bosom's fall and swell
Tell her meaning all too well,
To her heart's demure distress.
She has soft, smooth cheeks that flame
As she nestles close, so close,
With the new half-joy, half-shame,
That within her bosom glows,
And each fevered feature shows.
Her hot pulses beat acclaim
Of the hopes she dare not tame,
Fervid thoughts she cannot name—
Till I kiss her, and she knows.
She has clinging arms of white,
Little hands and fingers fine,
And she holds me tight, so tight;
While her eager arms entwine
Deep I drink her kisses' wine.
Hush! I feel through all her slight,
Trembling figure love's delight,
And she knows that all is right,
And her bosom beats with mine.
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