Sing now no hymn nor chant a dirge Nor weep for any dead thing, Still in her veins an ardent sting Her beating blood can urge. To the white pale lily she is kind, Rearing a few flowers that are red, Yet sometimes weeds grow there instead ... In the conservatory of her mind. A quick caress she gives the rose, Lilac, geranium -- all in season ... Oh, if she might have seen a reason For powdering her nose! Too deft at lavender and chintz, Too cold for wooing but not wan, She dreams a springtime gentleman To have come a springtime since. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT I LIVE FOR by GEORGE LINNAEUS BANKS GOOD-BYE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE WEATHER-COCK POINTS SOUTH by AMY LOWELL SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 30. CHRIST AND WOMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PSALM 1. BEATUS VIR, QUI NON by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 45. FAREWELL TO JULIET (7) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |