I cut myself upon the thought of you And yet I come back to it again and again, A kind of fury makes me want to draw you out From the dimness of the present And set you sharply above me in a wheel of roses. Then, going obviously to inhale their fragrance, I touch the blade of you and cling upon it, And only when the blood runs out across my fingers Am I at all satisfied | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON BEN JONSON [JOHNSON] by ROBERT HERRICK THE LAST LEAF by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES PRAYER OF A SOLDIER IN FRANCE by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER SONNET: 27 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL HE WROTE THE HISTORY BOOK,' IT SAID by MARIANNE MOORE THE PORTRAIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |