Jealous Of Her

I am jealous of her hair-
Oh, not that it is so fair,
But that each eve she spends
A hundred strokes, here and there,
To tidy it from crown to ends.

I am jealous of her eyes-
Oh, not that they are so wise,
But that each night they close
Upon her sweet face as she lies,
Nearer to her than thorn to rose.

I am jealous of her ears-
Oh, not that so well she hears,
But that they are part of her,
That they have heard her fears,
They they know each whisper.

I am jealous of her face-
Oh, not that it has such grace,
But that she sees it when
In the mirror her eyes gaze,
That she sees it again and again.

I am jealous of her limbs-
Oh, not that they are so slim,
But that they bear her fro,
That they serve her every whim,
That they move when she says 'go.'

I am jealous of her hands-
Oh, not that they worship demand,
But that they move to her will,
Obey her soul's each command,
And are still when she is still.

I am jealous of her heart-
Oh, not that it is such art,
But that for her it breasts the flood,
That it is such a vital part,
That it knows her flesh and blood.