Lilly-White Hand.

Place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
Maid with the wealth of golden hair; -
Tresses, that gleaming like gold, entwine,
Round about a sweet face so fair.

Sweetheart, oh! whisper once more the words,
That came from those coral lips of thine,
And bound thee to me by those silken cords, -
And place thy lilly-white hand in mine,

Place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
That its gentle pressure may tell my heart
That the idol round which I had reared a shrine,
Is mine, - mine, - never from me to part.

Sweetest and fairest of woman kind!
Gentlest, kindest, lovingest, best, -
Virtues with beauties are so combined,
That manhood pays homage at love's behest.

Place thy lilly-white hand in mine,
Let its velvet touch on my horny palm,
Comfort, encourage, embolden, refine, -
This grosser clay, by its subtle charm.

Long as life lasts let me clasp thy hand,
As a pledge of our oneness, existing now;
And when I depart for the better land,
Let it rest for a while on my death-cold brow.

Falsehood, treachery, sickness, pain, -
I have endured, yet hopefully stand
Strong in the thought I have lived not in vain.
Had I won but this treasure, - this lilly-white hand.

John Hartley

John Hartley was an English poet who wrote in the Yorkshire dialect. Born on January 1, 1839, in Halifax, West Yorkshire, he was known for his humorous and dialectical poetry, which vividly captured the spirit and culture of Yorkshire. Hartley's works were extremely popular in the 19th century, and he remains a significant figure in regional English literature. He passed away on March 10, 1915.

John Hartley

Election. (Prose)

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Lass o'th Haley Hill.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

That's a Fact.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

Gronfayther's Days.

John Hartley, Simple Poetry

English

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Love.

Love - love - love - love, -
A tiny hand in a tiny glove;
A witching smile that means, - well, - well,
Whether little or much its hard to tell.
A tiny foot and a springy tread,
Short curls running riot all over her head;
A waist that invites a fond embrace,
Yet by modesty girt seems a holy place;
Not a place where an arm should be idly thrown,
But should gently rest, as would rest my own.
An angel whose wings are but hid from view,
Whose charms are many and faults so few,
As near perfection as mortal can be,
Is the one that I love and that loves but me.
They tell me that love is blind, - .oh, no!
They can never convince a lover so;
Love cannot be blind for it sees much more,
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Oh, the restless night with its ple...

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Her Beautiful Hands

O your hands - they are strangely fair!
Fair - for the jewels that sparkle there, -
Fair - for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!

Marvelous - wonderful - beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine.
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul,
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands -
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As I remember the first fair touch
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Beautiful Hands.

O your hands - they are strangely fair!
Fair - for the jewels that sparkle there, -
Fair - for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!

Marvelous - wonderful - beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul,
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands -
My passionate love for your beautiful hands.

As I remember the first fair touch
Of those beautiful hands that I love so much,
I seem to thrill as I ...

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Somebody's.

Oh, isn't it nice to be somebody's? -
Somebody's darling and pet,
To be shrined in the heart of a dear one,
Whose absence fills soul with regret?
To be dreamed of, and longed for, and courted,
As the Queen whom his heart holds in thrall, -
As the one - the great one, priceless jewel,
That outweighs and outvalues them all?

Oh, - I'd rather my head should be resting,
On the breast of the man that I love;
And my hand in his strong grasp be nestling,
And bask in the light of his love: -
I would rather, - far rather, my darling
Should be loving, and faithful, and brave,
Than be titled, and wealthy, and fickle; -
E'en though poverty held him a slave.

Oh, my heart yearns for one that is noble, -
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Those Tiny Fingers.

She has gone for ever from earth away,
Yet those tiny fingers haunt me still;
In the silent night, when the moons pale ray,
Silvers the leaves on the window sill.
Just between sleeping and waking I lie,
Makebelieve feeling their velvet touch,
Darling! My darling! Oh, why should you die!
Leaving me lonely, who loved so much?

Those tiny fingers that used to stray
Over my face which is wrinkled now;
Those little white hands - how they used to play,
With the wanton curls round my once fair brow.
Thy soft blue eyes and thy dimpled cheeks,
I seem to see now as I saw them then;
And a whispering voice to my sad heart speaks, -
'Thou shalt meet her again,' - but when? oh, when?

Deep in the grave was the coffin laid,
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Willie.

I clasp your hand in mine, Willie,
    And fancy I've the art
To see, while gazing in your face,
    What's passing in your heart:
'Tis joy an honest man to hold,
    That gem of modest worth,
More prized than all the sordid gold
    Of all the mines of earth, Willie,
        Of all the mines of earth.

I've marked your love or right, Willie,
    Your proud disdain of wrong;
I know you'd rather aid the weak
    Than battle for the strong.
The golden rule--religion's stay--
    With constancy pursue,
Which renders others all that they
    On earth can render you, Willie,
        On earth can render you.

A conscience void of guile, Willie,
    A disposition kind,
A nature, gentle and sincere,
    Accomplished and refined:

George Pope Morris