Author George Parsons Lathrop The sunshine of thine eyes, (O still, celestial beam!)Whatever it touches it fills With the life of its lambent gleam.The sunshine of thine eyes, Oh, let it fall on me!Though I be but a mote of the air, I could turn to gold for thee. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments