O Anne in town, at rainy Hallowmas, Poring, wide-eyed, sad Dante by the fire, One brought me, dripping, from a country brier. The old scent's in me yet, and will not pass. Between these leaves of leather and dulled brass, Just yesterday he found me as he read, And brake his heart for that we both were dead, I in this book and she beneath the grass. A crumbling handful in a corner thrust, A little flame blown out this many a year, Behold me now! But ah, that afternoon At Beauty's throat! Love overwept my dust. And not a rose in distant lanes or near, Grudge I its red or any sweet of June. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TRANSIENCE OF HANDS by KAREN SWENSON LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT; AN ALLEGORICAL ROMANCE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE BUNCH OF GRAPES by GEORGE HERBERT HENRY PURCELL by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS |