All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands. All Greece reviles the wan face when she smiles, hating it deeper still when it grows wan and white, remembering past enchantments and past ills. Greece sees unmoved, God's daughter, born of love, the beauty of cool feet and slenderest knees, could love indeed the maid, only if she were laid, white ash amid funereal cypresses. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIVER OF LIFE by THOMAS CAMPBELL WOMAN'S WILL by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE DEAD MISTRESS by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE GARDEN WHERE THERE IS NO WINTER by LOUIS JAMES BLOCK WHOM EARTH HAS TAUGHT: PROSPICENCE by MARGARET PERKINS BRIGGS |