They told her she had hair the color Of a nightingale. They told her that her eyes were candles Lit beneath a veil. They praised her feet like narrow doves Mated on the floor, Saying there were never feet Like her feet before. They praised her shining voice that rang Like stars dropped in a glass. "Sing to thy little yellow shell!" And so the night would pass. But when they came too near to her And touched her with the hand, She drew her hair across her eyes. She could not understand. And when they said a thing to her That she had never heard, Her heart plunged into silence there Like a hunted bird. She caught her violet mantle close, The Tyrian upon the white. She quivered like a little twig. She stepped into the night. They called her name within the dark, They searched beneath the sun, But there was not a broken flower To show where she had run. Everything was very still, Far too still, they said. So they turned and went away, Unaccompanied. Nothing moved where they had sought, Nothing sang or wept. Beneath a tree that had no name, Silence turned and slept. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY ANTENOR, MARCH 16, 1661/2 by KATHERINE PHILIPS THE PRETTY REDHEAD by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE A BALLADE OF OTHER IDOLS by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) THREE THROWS AND ONE by JANE BARLOW THE HEALERS by LAURENCE BINYON TWO ARGOSIES (ANTONIO'S AND SHAKESPEARE'S) by WALLACE BRUCE |