In the courtyard, Isabella's apricot, spurred by the rain, goaded by the sun, iterates its delicate whiteness, its unabashed languor under a living arabesque of swallows– Isabella's in love: my friend Peter trekked to Rome, thinking only to escape New England winter; now they're exuberant, coupled– Cupid, general of hot desire, don't let this joy evanesce, this glorious March go unmonumented– When Peter's far away, will Isabella's faith surmount the chilly miles? Is @3besotted@1 the word she wants, now that the once blasé courtyard is lambent with blossoms, and the spirited wisteria burgeons, dauphin into king, dauphin into king. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN DEY 'LISTED COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LAST RESERVATION by WALTER LEARNED A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE WHEN I READ THE BOOK by WALT WHITMAN WOMAN'S BEAUTY by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE WATER WHEEL by ABU ABD ALLAH |