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My Work - PoetryYour EyesYour eyes store the magic of supreme beautyAnd in front of beauty I always feel enslaved. Your eyes have a sparkle that snatches my vision Like lightning in the deep darkness. Your eyes are enigmas that I long to solve, Gleaming beheath eyelashes and half-closed lids. Your eyes have a warmth, nay a fire in which I melt Tell me how such a flame could emanate from water! Oh! Lady with such sweet eyes, be not so harsh on one Who is drunk with the nectar of your eyes, like a limpid soul Who finds in your eyes the cup of death so sweet, From which of those two eyes must then he drink? I am like a butterfly for which a flame spells death But undeterred, still wings towards that flame Have pity! For in your eyes I fly so high Yet in them too I drown so deep! London, 1964 |
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