In Your Eyes’ Need

 

Neither this smile is off my mind,

Nor how you with all being are so kind.

I might call you one thousand names,

Giving envy to flames or paged dames.

 

Words I have which poor painters lack,

What they in colour can’t I paint in black.

But eyes I need – eyes that as fairly see,

As fair they look – for a true poet to be!

 

Though I, through ink, give respect

To magic of mage, to music of muse,

When I with eyes your eyes inspect,

I feel for you wanting is my use.

 

Oh, who can please a witted flower,

Being a wordy poet or a simple lover.

 

Nomad Soul

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L4.paged:	taken place in books, already written about
L4.dame:	“the official title of a female member of the Order of the British Empire, equivalent to that of a knight.”
L12.wanting:	lacking
L12.use:	use of words