AH, she was not an angel to adore, She was not perfect -- she was only this: A woman to be prattled to, to kiss, To praise with all sweet praises, and before Whose face you never were ashamed to lay The affections of your pride away. I have kept Fancy traveling to and fro Full many an hour, to find what name were best, If there were any sweeter than the rest, That I might always call my darling so; And this of woman seems to me the sweetest, The finest, the most gracious, the completest. The dust she wore about her I agree Was poor and sickly, even to make you sad, But this rough world we live in never had An ornament more excellent than she; The earthly dress was all so frail that you Could see the beauteous spirit shining through. Not what she was, but what she was to me Is what I fain would tell -- from her was drawn The softness of the eve, the light of dawn; With her and for her I could only see What things were sweet and sensible and pure; Now all is dull, slow guessing, nothing sure. My sorrow with this comfort yet is stilled -- I do not dread to hear the winter stir His wild winds up -- I have no fear for her: And all my love could never hope to build A place so sweet beneath heaven's arch of blue, As she by death has been elected to. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BAY FIGHT by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL INGRATEFUL [OR UNGRATEFUL] BEAUTY THREATENED by THOMAS CAREW SONNET - REALITIES: 1 by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS SANTORIN (A LEGEND OF THE AEGEAN) by JAMES ELROY FLECKER VENICE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE SHADED WATER by WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS ICED BRANCHES by KENNETH SLADE ALLING MEMENTO MORI by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 29. CHRIST AND ENGLAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |