For this she starred her eyes with salt And scooped her temples thin, Until her face shone pure of fault From the forehead to the chin. In coldest crucibles of pain Her shrinking flesh was fired And smoothed into a finer grain To make it more desired. Pain left her lips more clear than glass; It colored and cooled her hand. She lay a field of scented grass Yielded as pasture land. For this her loveliness was curved And carved as silver is: For this she was brave: but she deserved A better grave than this. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT BEST I SEE; TO U.S.G. RETURN'D FROM HIS WORLD'S TOUR by WALT WHITMAN CONFLICT AND PEACE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS LAST DAYS OF BYRON by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE HUNCHBACK by JOHN PEALE BISHOP LORD ROBERTS by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB ON THE WAY OF THE CROSS by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR WHITE SWORD by WINIFRED ADAMS BURR |