Those comely pupils set in faces like amulets of blackness and silver.

Those waters wandering between lids and lashes like lakes girdled with shores and poplar trees.

The eyes — do the eyes not astonish you?

Gray eyes with their dreams,

And blue eyes with their variety,

And honey-colored eyes with their sweetness,

And brown eyes with their charm,

And dark eyes with their alternations of strength and sweetness.

All eyes.

Those that remind you of the clearness of the sky,

And those in which the depth of the seas lies still,

And those that show you the desert wastes and their mirage,

And those that carry your fancy up into an ethereal kingdom that is all splendor..

And those in which pass clouds that flash lightning and shed rain,

And those from which your gaze turns away only to seek a beauty-mark on the cheek.

Narrow round eyes, and long almond eyes,

And those sunk deep in their sockets from so much pondering and scrutiny,

And those of wide glances and slow movements,

And those over which the upper lids float calmly, as flocks of white birds hover over the lakes of the North,

And those others of green flame, that twist their ray like a grappling-hook upon the heart and catch it fast; and others, and others, and others...

Eyes that feel,

And eyes that think,

And eyes that take pleasure,

And eyes that sing,

And those in which rancors and grudges have pitched their camp,

And those in whose clefts secrets have been driven deep.

All eyes, and all the secrets of eyes.

Those in which inspiration keeps a loving countenance,

And those over which the films of torpor have thickened,

And those whose blackness widens before the one they love and shrinks before the one they hate,

And those that never cease asking “Who are you?” — and the more you answer them, the more