Explore "Vale" by Hervey Allen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I love the little vale between your breasts, / But yet, farewell, for that is never still; / My garden far from you will be at rest / With lakes asleep beside a brooding hill / And cedar swales in hollow valley lands / With S-like streams between the O-shaped ponds, / Where grow frail ferns with upturned Gothic hands / And prayerful fronds.
In gray half-lights 'twill be a lovely thing / By Gypsy paths to wander at hearts-ease / Near campaniles where the bell folk sing / Down terraces of rustling linden trees, / And two hills like your breasts will be in death, / When lamps will cast their shadows silently, / Will rise still blue above the yellow corn / That ripples with a sleepy mystery.