WHITE foxglove, by an angle in the wall, Secluded, tall, No vulgar bees Consult you, wondering If such a dainty thing Can give them ease. Yet what was that? Sudden a breeze From the far moorland sighed, And you replied, Quiv'ring a moment with a thrill Sweet, but ineffable. Was it a kiss that sought you from the bowers Of happier flowers, And did not heed Accessible loveliness, And with a quaint distress Hinted the need, And paused and trembled for its deed, And so you trembled, too, No roseate hue Revealing how the alarmed sense Blushed quick -- intense? Ah me! Such kisses are for roses in the prime, For braid of lime, For full-blown blooms, For ardent breaths outpoured Obvious, or treasure stored In honied rooms Of rare delight, in which the looms Of nature still conspire To sate desire. Not such are you beside the wall, Cloistered and virginal. 'Twas your wild purple sisters there that passed Unseen, and cast The spell. They hold The vantage of the heights, And in you they have rights, And they are bold: They know not ever to be cold Or coy, but they would play With you alway. Wherefore their little sprites a-wing Make onslaught from the ling. @3So spake I to the foxglove in my mood, But was not understood. Rather she shrank, and in a tenfold whiteness Condemned what must have seemed to her my lightness.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LATE SINGER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE MERRIMAC by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: SONNET 24. BALCOMBE FOREST by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TO LABOR by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE KEPT FOR JESUS by EDITH E. CHERRY |