It may be when the sunlight strikes the sill A certain way. Your hand once rested there, And so, remembering that, my heart stands still, As one who has been running stops for air. Or in a crowd some friend may say your name, Or just a name that's similar to yours, And all my pulses leap as leaps a flame When someone adds a twig. These are your lures. The snares your hand and voice have set for me Are many as the things I hear and see. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SYMPATHETIC PORTRAIT OF A CHILD by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS RETURNED FROM THE WAR by HENRY ABBEY CHARACTERS: MARTHA JENNINGS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LAST MAN: METAPHOR OF RAIN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES GIVE NOT WITH YOUR HANDS by MACKNIGHT BLACK |