Upon her breast her hands and hair
Were tangled all together.
The moon of June forbade me not –
The golden night time weather
In balmy sighs commanded me
To kiss them like a feather.
Her looming hair, her burning hands,
Were tangled black and white.
My face I buried there. I pray –
So far from her to-night –
For grace, to dream I kiss her soul
Amid the black and white.
(Vachel Lindsay)
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Based on Topics: Hair PoemsBased on Keywords: forbade, looming