John Stuart Thomson (1869–1950)

I WATCHED her tie her sandals on

With ribbons soft as her dark hair,

The while her robe of spotless lawn

Moved to the toyings of the air.

And when her languorous eyelids fell,—

With purest pearl tints softly dyed,—

The dimpled smiles on her cheeks tell

What thoughts in her sweet memory hide.

From rounded shoulder to the tips

Of tapering fingers, pinkly bright,

And in the curve of her rose lips,

Nature had lavished line and light.

A zone with sapphires sprinkled o’er

Caught up the flowings of her gown;

And pendent, jewelled charms she wore,

To her warm bosom reaching down.

I wondered if on lavender,

Or silken pillows, perfume-filled,

Or bed of aromatic fir,

She slept through nights, by love’s dreams stilled.