Her body is not so white as anemony petals nor so smooth-nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass does not raise above it. Here is no question of whiteness, white as can be, with a purple mole at the center of each flower. Each flower is a hand's span of her whiteness. Wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blemish. Each part is a blossom under his touch to which the fibres of her being stem one by one, each to its end, until the whole field is a white desire, empty, a single stem, a cluster, flower by flower, a pious wish to whiteness gone over- or nothing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HISTORY OF A LIFE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE SLEEPING BEAUTY by SAMUEL ROGERS SONNET: 110 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A RECEIPT TO CURE THE VAPOURS by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU TANGLED TRAILS by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING; A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |