My Love sits angry; see! Her foot shakes in the light; Her timid, little foot, That else would hide from sight. Her left hand props her cheek; Its little finger plays Upon her under-lip, And makes a harp-like noise. Her lip's red manuscript She has unrolled and spread; So I may read ill news, And hang my guilty head. My Love sits angry; see! She's red up to her eyes; And was her face flogged by The wings of Butterflies? Her right hand's in her lap, So small, so soft, so white; She in her anger makes Five fingers hide from sight. Two golden curls have now Dropped out of their silk net; There they must stop, for she Will not restore them yet. My Love, she is so fair When in this angry way, That did she guess my thoughts, She'd quarrel every day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRUEL MISTRESS by THOMAS CAREW A TRAGIC STORY by ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN HARTZ FOREST by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TOM BOWLING ['S EPITAPH] by CHARLES DIBDIN ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MADONNA OF THE EVENING FLOWERS by AMY LOWELL |