Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 18

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XVIII EYES
Eyes, what are they? Coloured glass,
Where reflections come and pass.

Open windows—by them sit
Beauty, Learning, Love, and Wit.

Searching cross-examiners;
Comfort's holy ministers.

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Starry silences of soul,
Music past the lips' control.

Fountains of unearthly light;
Prisons of the infinite.

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