Thy mouth is a snow apple, Thy tongue a rosy melon core, Thy breasts are citrons odorous of the East. I know that nursery tale of Eden now, Where God prepared the feast Beneath the bow. I ask no more. The apple-trees have whispered The only word I listened for Through all the legends babbled in my ears. I know what manner of unbitten fruit The first man took with fears And found so sweet. I ask no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE CITY by CLAUDE MCKAY THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT: 21 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) THE YOUNG HOUSEWIFE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS TWO WOMEN by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS TO HIS HEART, BIDDING IT HAVE NO FEAR by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DIRGE FOR THE LATE JAMES CURRIE, M.D., OF LIVERPOOL by LUCY AIKEN THE OLD CAMP; WRITTEN IN A ROMAN FORTIFICATION IN BAVARIA by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |