Let my hand--
This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend!
Hand in hand with you.
ROBERT BROWNING: _Paracelsus,_ Sc. 5.
'T was a hand
White, delicate, dimpled, warm, languid, and bland.
The hand of a woman is often, in youth,
Somewhat rough, somewhat red, somewhat graceless in truth;
Does its beauty refine, as its pulses grow calm,
Or as Sorrow has, crossed the life-line in the palm?
OWEN MEREDITH: _Lucile,_ Pt. i., Canto iii., St. 13.