Is it sunrise or some evening dusk
which begins to cast on her skin
its growing spell and diving light?
And as it spreads it gives a sign,
and the sign is there to be read—
and, in that sign, in a sign of love,
eyes laid on eyes may come alive
and fall ablaze—for they too
have dipped in blush that speaks
in tongues of roses’ deepest bloom
that sets the eyes to fountain glow
and spark and song—for he signed
this palest of all vaunted necks
with a glint that filled her through.
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