She is an iris, Dark purple, pale rose, Under the gnarled boughs That shatter their stars of bloom. She waves delicately With the movement of the tree. Of what is she dreaming? Of long nights lit with orange lanterns, Of wine cups and compliments and kisses of the two-sword men. And of dawn when weary sleepers Lie outstretched on the mats of the palace, And of the iris stalk that is broken in the fountain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VIRGIN'S SLUMBER SONG by JOSEPH FRANCIS CARLIN MACDONNELL I DO NOT LOVE THEE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON SUMTER [APRIL 12, 1861] by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE DOVE by ABUL HASAN OF SEVILLE TO CATULLUS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES BEREAVEMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. WHEN I LOOK UPON YOUR FACES by EDWARD CARPENTER |