DRIPPING the hollyhocks beneath the wall, Their fires half quenched, a smouldering red; A shred of gold upon the grasses tall, A butterfly is hanging dead. A sound of trickling waters, like a tune Set to sweet words; a wind that blows Wet boughs against a saffron sky; all June Caught in the breath of one white rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITANY OF ATLANTA by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS JOSEPH'S COAT by GEORGE HERBERT THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA by HERMAN MELVILLE LAMENT by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY VIRGILS GNAT by EDMUND SPENSER WRITTEN FOR A LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |