A Mona Lisa

I.

I should like to creep
Through the long brown grasses
That are your lashes; I should like to poise
On the very brink Of the leaf-brown pools
That are your shadowed eyes; I should like to cleave
Without sound, Their glimmering waters,
Their unrippled waters, I should like to sink down
And down And down . . . .
And deeply drown.

II.

Would I be more than a bubble breaking?
Or an ever-widening circle Ceasing at the marge?
Would my white bones
Be the only white bones Wavering back and forth, back and forth In their
depths?