All the Colors that Her Eyes are Not

Though I could write a poem about her eyes--
(A poem! Though I could fill a book with them--)
--to never hymn another's eyes again?
For hers are not the color of the skies;
Athena's storm-gray gaze,
nor cloudless blue, nor overcast azure.
Nor are her eyes a clover-strewn pasture
of emerald, peridot, or grassy jade.
Oh, all the colors that her eyes are not!
Each with its own voice, its note!
New muse: although I could-- no, could and will--
forsaking every other, praise your eyes,
and yours alone, and seek them when I rise,
and when I lie back down again-- still,
those other colors' sounds
that roll over the tongue like polished gems--
cerulean, citron, amber, aqua, flame!
And yet, your name is lovelier. I'll be bound;
Banish all those pigments from my pallette
that her eyes are not.