by George Essex Evans (1863 – 1909)
Girl, with the soft grey eyes,
You to the flowers belong:
From the perfume of a rose
My heart shall weave you a song.
I will colour its words with light,
Like the sun on that straying tress.
The wind will lend me its harp
To set it in loveliness.
It shall fold you soft as the mist,
Yet stir your heart like the sea,
Till lips that never were kissed
Shall yield their homage to me.
About the Author
See our page on George Essex Evans. Includes a linked list of all his writing available on our website.