Hear me, thou proud, deceitful maid, Tell how thy charms must droop and fade; Long ere thy days are done, thou'lt be Alive for Memory's mockery. Soft flesh will soon hang hard and dry Like seaweed on the rocks; that eye Soon lose its clearness, like a flood Where late the drinking cows have stood. Thy berry-lips, now full and red, Will dry and crack, like snakeskins shed; And those white stones they keep inside, Will blacken, break, and then you'll hide. That hair which like a golden net Hangs loose and free, a trap well set To catch my silly fingers now -- Will soon cause thee much grief to show. Thy voice, now like a flawless bell, Which thou dost ring so sweet and well -- Will shame thee into silence soon. Thy form, tied like a silk balloon, Full of sweet gas, straining to rise From common earth, and sail those skies -- Will sit all huddled in a chair, Cold at a fire, and springtime there. These things I told a maid one day, And laughed with scorn, and went my way; I laughed with scorn, as home I stept -- Ah, but all night I sighed and wept. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAYLOFT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AN EARNEST SUIT [TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORESAKE HIM] by THOMAS WYATT ON SICK LEAVE, 1916 by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG THE SMACK RACE by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |