She is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun 'tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELMER BARR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE TIGER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE SUICIDE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY POCAHONTAS by GEORGE POPE MORRIS A QUESTION by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE QUATRAIN: OMAR KHAYYAM (AFTER FITZGERALD) by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |