Her beauty is a wasted thing, She's neither sweet nor kind; And flowers that have no other eyes Than raindrops soon go blind. She is a park that has no deer To give it life or grace; Until I think the wilderness A more enchanted place. Her Ten Commandments are her own, She knows no other Creed; The only babies in her eyes Are selfish thoughts and greed. Her beauty is a wasted thing, Is Nature's loss and pain; When will the little, plain, brown bird Come back and sing again? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO THOSE WHO SEE BUT DARKLY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MEMORY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LOREINE: A HORSE by ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1882 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SHIP STARTING by WALT WHITMAN EMPTYING ASHES by MAXWELL ANDERSON THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE SECOND FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |