Isabel
by
In her body’s perfect sweet
Suppleness and languor meet,–
Arms that move like lapsing billows,
Breasts that Love would make his pillows,
Eyes where vision melts in bliss,
Lips that ripen to a kiss.
In her body’s perfect sweet
Suppleness and languor meet,–
Arms that move like lapsing billows,
Breasts that Love would make his pillows,
Eyes where vision melts in bliss,
Lips that ripen to a kiss.