I cut myself upon the thought of you And yet I come back to it again and again, A kind of fury makes me want to draw you out From the dimness of the present And set you sharply above me in a wheel of roses. Then, going obviously to inhale their fragrance, I touch the blade of you and cling upon it, And only when the blood runs out across my fingers Am I at all satisfied | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEORGE MOSES HORTON, MYSELF by GEORGE MOSES HORTON A PENNY'S WORTH OF POESY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE OLD FLUTE by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 41. YA HASIB by EDWIN ARNOLD |