At last I know-it-s on old ivory jars,
Glassed with old miniatures and garnered once with musk.
I-ve seen those eyes like smouldering April stars
As carp might see them behind their bubbled skies
In pale green fishponds-they-re as green your eyes,
As lakes themselves, changed to green stone at dusk.

At last I know-it-s paned in a crystal hoop
On powder-boxes from some dead Italian girl,
I-ve seen such eyes grow suddenly dark, and droop
Their small, pure lids, as if I-d pried too far
In finding you snared there on that ivory jar
By crusted motes of rose and smoky-pearl.