Not honey Not the plunder of the bee From meadow or sand-flower Or mountain bush; From winter-flower or shoot Born of the later heat: Not honey, not the sweet Stain on the lips and teeth: Not honey, not the deep Plunge of the soft belly And the clinging of the gold-edged Pollen-dusted feet. Not so -- Though rapture blind my eyes, And hunger crisp Dark and inert my mouth, Not honey, not the south, Not the tall stalk Of red twin-lilies, Nor light branch of fruit tree Caught in flexible light branch. Not honey, not the south; Ah, flower of purple iris, Flower of white, Or of the iris, withering the grass -- For fleck of the sun's fire, Gathers such heat and power, That shadow-print is light, Cast through the petals Of the yellow iris flower. Not iris -- old desire -- old passion -- Old forgetfulness -- old pain -- Not this, nor any flower, But if you turn again, Seek strength of arm and throat, Touch as the god: Neglect the lyre-note; Knowing that you shall feel, About the frame, No trembling of the string But heat more passionate Of bone and the white shell And fiery tempered steel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WITHOUT CEREMONY by THOMAS HARDY A THANKSGIVING TO GOD [FOR HIS HOUSE] by ROBERT HERRICK THE ODYSSEY: THE GARDENS OF ALCINOUS by HOMER TO JOHN KEATS; SONNET by AMY LOWELL ILICET by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE INDIGNANT CAPTAIN OF INDUSTRY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |