Miriam Allen deFord

YOUR eyes are like the wind,—

Grey, clean and shining.

Behind them little lamps are lit eternally,

Making them the altar of your inextinguishable spirit.

I have seen a dream burn them blue,

And tenderness warm them to hazel;

And I have seen them black with thought:—

But when I love them most they are the color of the wind,

Sweeping over the grasses and the sea.