Explore "Silverpoints" by John Gray on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Leaves and branches, flowers and fruits are here; / And here my heart, which throbs alone for thee. / Ah! do not wound my heart with those two dear / White hands, but take the poor gift tenderly.
I come, all covered with the dews of night / The morning breeze has pearled upon my face. / Let my fatigue, at thy feet, in thy sight, / Dream through the moments of its sweet solace.