Not in small painted towns whose color rips The solitude of shores kelp-strung and gray, Not in La Jolla, Carmel, Monterey, Your beauty lies -- minxes with rouge-smeared lips; Not along wharf lines where a city dips Its dainty fingers in the pile-split spray -- San Pedro, Newport, San Francisco Bay -- Scumming the water with the bilge of ships: Yours is a torn and wistful beauty, born On lonely beaches when the tide is low -- Fog tangles in the marsh-grass... a forlorn Blue heron wading in the afterglow... Dull silver lapping on a wet sand-bar... And lost wings circling near a ghost-white star. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BIRTH OF A CHILD by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER by JOHN MILTON MARY'S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE): 1 by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE PASSOVER IN THE HOLY FAMILY (FOR A DRAWING) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |