The spiders web has no more finer silk
Than the touch of love soft fingers stroke
Tender is love that has no ilk
Nor fires that only passion stoke.
No finer the weave of flowers in chain
Or soft the feel of feathered down
Light cat foot is more noise and gain
No measure to silence loves' seed is sown.
Tenderness of love is heavens gift
Caressed by angels wings do fly
And touch the heart that feels the lift
Of sweet love, of love in soundless cry.
Gently means the lay of moulded lips
In light brush of truth is full to paint
No picture loved more than sweet fingertips
Which brush-stroke, flawless, without taint.
If i find soft love ever more than this
On earths full round I pay the due
If ever my lips felt the kiss
Then I have found such tenderness too.
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