Where do the lovely ladies go That make the earth a bed of flowers? Ladies, all frankincense and gold Who weep at dawn over their powers. Wanton, tender, idly cold, Each dealing forth a cicatrice. Sheba is still and, so we know, Is Deirdre with her waste sorrows. Nausicaa and Beatrice Have plucked the last of their tomorrows. Oblivious catacombs of mould Are flying girls these Aprils miss. Brief queens whose beauty is their foe, Treading behind the winds that blow, Whose loves from bad incline to worse -- When they have worked appointed woe, They drive for air upon a hearse, Seeking the comfort of a nurse. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 6. SUNSET IN THE TROPICS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT THE WORLD'S WAY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LINES WRITTEN TO A TRANSLATOR OF GREEK POETRY by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON STANZAS, ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT. P. by BERNARD BARTON THE WATERS OF H. BAPTISME by JOSEPH BEAUMONT SANDY STAR: 1. SCULPTURED WORSHIP by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |