A Clasp of Hands

I

Soft, small, and sweet as sunniest flowersThat bask in heavenly heatWhen bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers,Soft, small, and sweet.

A babe's hands open as to greetThe tender touch of oursAnd mock with motion faint and fleet

The minutes of the new strange hoursThat earth, not heaven, must mete;Buds fragrant still from heaven's own bowers,1Soft, small, and sweet.

II

A velvet vice with springs of steelThat fasten in a triceAnd clench the fingers fast that feelA velvet vice—

What man would risk the danger twice,Nor quake from head to heel?Whom would not one such test suffice?

Well may we tremble as we kneelIn sight of Paradise,If both a babe's closed fists concealA velvet vice.

III

Two flower-soft fists of conquering clutch,Two creased and dimpled wrists,That match, if mottled overmuch,Two flower-soft fists—

What heart of man dare hold the listsAgainst such odds and suchSweet vantage as no strength resists?

Our strength is all a broken crutch,Our eyes are dim with mists,Our hearts are prisoners as we touchTwo flower-soft fists.