by Irving Layton

Irving Layton

Were I a clumsy poet
I'd compare you to Helen;
Ransack the mythologies
Greek, Chinese and Persian

For a goddess vehement
And slim: one with form as fair.
Yet find none. O, love, you are
Lithe as a Jew peddler

And full of grace. Such lightness
Is in your step, instruments
I keep for the beholder
To prove you walk, not dance.

Merely to touch you is fire
In my head; my hair becomes
A burning bush. When you speak,
Like Moses I am dumb

With marvelling, or like him
I stutter with pride and fear:
I hold, Love, divinity
In my changed face and hair.

Last updated May 12, 2023