The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book; And the South Wind, washing through the room, Makes the candles quiver. My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter, And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots Outside, in the night. Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN IN THE JEWISH SYNAGOGUE AT NEWPORT by EMMA LAZARUS SLEEPING TOGETHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE HEART'S RETURN by EDWIN MARKHAM MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |