THE HANDS OF MY BELOVED

The hands of my beloved would grace a queen
If any queen were worthy of them!

Short little hands
With little flowers of blue among the snow
And tiny fingers
On which the nails like roses blow. ¹

Hands, loving and compassionate,
With how much kindness they are ever placed
Upon my brow; white hands,
When by your aid to suffer well I'm braced,
'Tis very saints you are.

Divine magicians, you, when days are bright,
Augment my joy, clapping your child-like hands
With mad delight.

And ever, noble hands though slender,
You are extended needed aid to render.

And prudent, letting not fatigue o'erpower you,
You're like the little ants of life.

White hands with bluish veins,
Make my life good.

Dear little hands of mine,
Grant me my share of joy,
And, if you fairies are, fill full with flowers
The garden that our mutual love embowers.

And when I die,
Close you my eyelids,
But let them slowly close,
That so my darkened eyes may bear your image
Beyond death's bourne!