IT settles softly on your things, Impalpable, fine, light, dull, gray: Her dingy dust-clout Betty brings, And singing brushes it away: And it's a queen's robe, once so proud, And it's the moths fed in its fold, It's leaves, and roses, and the shroud Wherein an ancient saint was rolled. And it is Beauty's golden hair, And it is Genius' crown of bay, And it is lips once warm and fair That kissed in some forgotten May.... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORECLOSURE by STERLING ALLEN BROWN THE BRACELET: TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK THE ETERNAL GOODNESS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER GULLS by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ANTIMENIDAS by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE DISCIPLINE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |