"MY mother says I must not pass Too near that glass; She is afraid that I will see A little witch that looks like me, With a red, red mouth, to whisper low The very thing I should not know!" Alack for all your mother's care! A bird of the air, A wistful wind, or (I suppose Sent by some hapless boy) a rose With breath too sweet, will whisper low The very thing you should not know! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO WHISTLER, AMERICAN; ON LOAN EXHIBIT OF PAINTINGS AT TATE GALLERY by EZRA POUND SLUG IN WOODS by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY MITHRIDATES by RALPH WALDO EMERSON AT A LUNAR ECLIPSE by THOMAS HARDY SUDDEN LIGHT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ON PASSING THE NEW MENIN GATE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON FLOWER AND THORN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |