Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PURITAN'S BALLAD, by ELINOR WYLIE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My love came up from barnegat Last Line: To tell me terrible lies? Alternate Author Name(s): Benet, William Rose, Mrs. Subject(s): Puritans | ||||||||
My love came up from Barnegat, The sea was in his eyes; He trod as softly as a cat And told me terrible lies. His hair was yellow as new-cut pine In shavings curled and feathered; I thought how silver it would shine By cruel winters weathered. But he was in his twentieth year, This time I'm speaking of; We were head over heels in love with fear And half a-feared of love. My hair was piled in a copper crown -- A devilish living thing, And the tortoise-shell pins fell down, fell down, When that snake uncoiled to spring. His feet were used to treading a gale And balancing thereon; His face was brown as a foreign sail Threadbare against the sun. His arms were thick as hickory logs Whittled to little wrists; Strong as the teeth of terrier dogs Were the fingers of his fists. Within his arms I feared to sink Where lions shook their manes, And dragons drawn in azure ink Leapt quickened by his veins. Dreadful his strength and length of limb As the sea to foundering ships; I dipped my hands in love for him No deeper than their tips. But our palms were welded by a flame The moment we came to part, And on his knuckles I read my name Enscrolled within a heart. And something made our wills to bend As wild trees blown over; We were no longer friend and friend, But only lover and lover. "In seven weeks or seventy years -- God grant it may be sooner! -- I'll make a handkerchief for your tears From the sails of my captain's schooner. We'll wear our loves like wedding rings Long polished to our touch; We shall be busy with other things And they cannot bother us much. When you are skimming the wrinkled cream And your ring clinks on the pan, You'll say to yourself in a pensive dream, "How wonderful a man!" When I am slitting a fish's head And my ring clanks on the knife, I'll say with thanks, as a prayer is said, "How beautiful a wife!" And I shall fold my decorous paws In velvet smooth and deep, Like a kitten that covers up its claws To sleep and sleep and sleep. Like a little blue pigeon you shall bow Your bright alarming crest; In the crook of my arm you'll lay your brow To rest and rest and rest." Will he never come back from Barnegat With thunder in his eyes, Treading as soft as a tiger cat, To tell me terrible lies? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER TO HER HUSBAND, ABSENT UPON PUBLIC EMPLOYMENT by ANNE BRADSTREET BEFORE THE BIRTH OF ONE OF HER CHILDREN by ANNE BRADSTREET CONTEMPLATIONS by ANNE BRADSTREET LONGING FOR HEAVEN by ANNE BRADSTREET SOME VERSES UPON THE BURNING OF OUR HOUSE JULY 10, 1666 by ANNE BRADSTREET THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT by ANNE BRADSTREET THE TENTH MUSE: THE PROLOGUE by ANNE BRADSTREET THE TENTH MUSE: THE VANITY OF ALL WORLDLY THINGS by ANNE BRADSTREET BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER; ON TURNING LATIN VERSE INTO ENGLISH by ELINOR WYLIE |
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