HER laugh was not in the middle of her face quite, As a gay laugh springs, It was plain she was anxious about some things I could not trace quite. Her curls were like fir-cones - piled up, brown - Or rather like tight-tied sheaves: It seemed they could never be taken down.... And her lips were too full, some might say: I did not think so. Anyway, The shadow her lower one would cast Was green in hue whenever she passed Bright sun on midsummer leaves. Alas, I knew not much of her, And lost all sight and touch of her! If otherwise, should I have minded The shy laugh not in the middle of her mouth quite, And would my kisses have died of drouth quite As love became unblinded? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SMALL BEGINNINGS by CHARLES MACKAY WINTER: MY SECRET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FRENCH REVOLUTION; AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCEMENT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE SABBATH LAMP by GRACE AGUILAR THE STRAYED REVELLER by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE MUD-FISH, BY AN INDIGNANT TORY FOOTMAN by CHARLES WILLIAM SHIRLEY BROOKS |