I should have thought in a dream you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing, orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would say (in a dream) I send you this, who left the blue veins of your throat unkissed. Why was it that your hands (that never took mine) your hands that I could see drift over the orchid heads so carefully, your hands, so fragile, sure to lift so gently, the fragile flower stuff— ah, ah, how was it You never sent (in a dream) the very form, the very scent, not heavy, not sensuous, but perilous–perilous— of orchids, piled in a great sheath, and folded underneath on a bright scroll some word: Flower sent to flower; for white hands, the lesser white, less lovely of flower leaf, or Lover to lover, no kiss, no touch, but forever and ever this. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEETING AT NIGHT by ROBERT BROWNING EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: COMMON FORM by RUDYARD KIPLING IN TIME OF GRIEF by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: NEWS OF WAR by AESCHYLUS STANZAS OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF H-- A-- by BERNARD BARTON TRINITIE SUNDAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |