Her body is not so white as anemony petals nor so smooth-nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass does not raise above it. Here is no question of whiteness, white as can be, with a purple mole at the center of each flower. Each flower is a hand's span of her whiteness. Wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blemish. Each part is a blossom under his touch to which the fibres of her being stem one by one, each to its end, until the whole field is a white desire, empty, a single stem, a cluster, flower by flower, a pious wish to whiteness gone over- or nothing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANOTHER SONG WITHOUT WORDS by PAUL VERLAINE CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES by ROBERT BURNS A PRAYER IN SPRING by ROBERT FROST THE QUANGLE WANGLE'S HAT by EDWARD LEAR KARMA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE OUTGOING OF SABBATH by ALTER ABELSON ODE; SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS by W. T. ADAMS |