As I wandered over the city through the night, I saw many strange things: But I have forgotten all Except one painted face. Gaudy, shameless night-orchid, Heavy, flushed, sticky with narcotic perfume, There was something in you which made me prefer you Above all the feeble forget-me-nots of the world. You were neither burnt out nor pallid, There was plain, coarse, vulgar meaning in every line of you And no make-believe: You were at least alive, When all the rest were but puppets of the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE; OR, THE EMIGRANT'S ADIEU TO HIS BIRTHPLACE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE POLAR QUEST by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON SONG FOR THE LUDDITES by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE CORNELIAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CHILD AND MOTHER by EUGENE FIELD A RHYMED REVIEW; 'LAUGHING MUSE' (BY ARTHUR GUITERMAN) by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MORGIANA DANCES by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |