Richard Middleton (1882–1911)

WHY are her eyes so bright, so bright,

Why do her lips control

The kisses of a summer night,

When I would love her soul?

God set her brave eyes wide apart

And painted them with fire;

They stir the ashes of my heart

To embers of desire.

Her lips so tenderly are wrought

In so divine a shape,

That I am servant to my thought

And can no wise escape.

Her body is a flower, her hair

About her neck doth play;

I find her colours everywhere,

They are the pride of day.

Her little hands are soft, and when

I see her fingers move

I know in very truth that men

Have died for less than love.

Ah, dear, live, lovely thing! my eyes

Have sought her like a prayer;

It is my better self that cries

‘Would she were not so fair!’

Would I might forfeit ecstasy

And find a calmer place,

Where I might undesirous see

Her too desirèd face:

Nor find her eyes so bright, so bright,

Nor hear her lips unroll

Dream after dream the lifelong night,

When I would love her soul.