My Lady

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Like putting forth upon a sea
 On which the moonbeams shimmer,
Where reefs and unknown perils be
To wreck, yea, wreck one utterly,
It were to love you, lady fair,
In whose black braids of billowy hair
 The misty moonstones glimmer.

Oh, misty moonstone-coloured eye,
 Latticed behind long lashes,
Within whose clouded orbs there lies,
Like lightning in the sleeping skies,
A spark to kindle and ignite,
And set a fire of love alight
 To burn one's heart to ashes.

I will not put forth on this deep
 Of perilous emotion;
No, though your hands be soft as sleep,
They shall not have my heart to keep,
Nor draw it to your fatal sphere.
Lady, you are as much to fear
 As is the fickle ocean.

© Mathilde Blind