I cannot bring you comfort -- ask me not For smooth-pulled sheets and socks all neatly mended; I cannot bring you biscuits brown and hot, If these you seek, why, then, our love is ended, If love you call it -- men do call it love -- And women, too, who know no other kind, Who patiently put household tasks above The trifling hungers of the flesh and mind. But I can laugh with you at commonplaces, And make a feast of moments men call cheap, And I can go like snow and leave no traces, When night means nothing more to us than sleep. Oh! Is it not some comfort to believe My heart will not grow dingy on your sleeve? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRAYERS OF STEEL by CARL SANDBURG THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JUNE by EDMUND SPENSER SARGENT'S PORTRAIT OF EDWIN BOOTH AT THE PLAYERS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 29 by THOMAS CAMPION THE MOSS SUPPLICATETH FOR THE POET by RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879) |