I was always a lover of ladies' hands! br Or ever mine heart came here to tryst, br For the sake of your carved white hands' commands; br The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist; br The hands of a girl were what I kissed. br br I remember an hand like a fleur-de-lys br When it slid from its silken sheath, her glove; br With its odours passing ambergris: br And that was the empty husk of a love. br Oh, how shall I kiss your hands enough? br br They are pale with the pallor of ivories; br But they blush to the tips like a curled sea-shell: br What treasure, in kingly treasuries, br Of gold, and spice for the thurible, br Is sweet as her hands to hoard and tell? br br I know not the way from your finger-tips, br Nor how I shall gain the higher lands, br The citadel of your sacred lips: br I am captive still of my pleasant bands, br The hands of a girl, and most your hands.