“When panting sighs the bosom fill, And hands by chance united thrill At once with one delicious pain The pulses and the nerves of twain; When eyes that erst could meet with ease, Do seek, yet, seeking, shyly shun Ecstatic conscious unison, - The sure beginnings, say, be these Prelusive to the strain of love Which angels sing in heaven above?” HandsEyePainHeavenChanceUnitedConsciousAngelSeekingEaseNervesThrillDeliciousSighStrainPulseBosomsEcstaticUnison Author:Arthur Hugh Clough
“If I call it pain, and try to touch it With my hands, my own life, It lies still and the music thins, A pulse felt for through garments.” IfsTryingStillsHandsPainLyingFeltMy OwnPulseGarmentsMy Own Life Book:Duende: Poems Source: Duende: Poems