The little time of love is all too short; The time of youth, when burning passions glow Like brilliant colored poppies in the morn, Too frail to brave the gentlest winds that blow. Red-petaled flowers steeped in blissful sleep That brings brief dreams exquisitely divine; Such fragile beauty cannot live and feel The chill and shadow of the sun's decline. For love has naught to do with grateful shade; The hybrid flower of friendship may grow there, And hardily with bloom embroider glades, Neighbored by cypress trees and maidenhair. But love, voluptuous love, the sybarite, Sleeps her opium sleep 'neath ambient beams, And wakes to dissolution if a cloud Creeps over the horizon of her dreams. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COLUMBUS CHENEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE BURIAL OF BOSTON CORBETT (ONE WARDEN TO ANOTHER) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CORTEGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |