So delicate my hands, and long,
They might have been my pride.
And there were those to make them song
Who for their touch had died.
Too frail to cup a heart within,
Too soft to hold the free--
How long these lovely hands have been
A bitterness to me!
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So delicate my hands, and long,
They might have been my pride.
And there were those to make them song
Who for their touch had died.
Too frail to cup a heart within,
Too soft to hold the free--
How long these lovely hands have been
A bitterness to me!
1893 - 1967/Female/American