O LITTLE tender rose of Bethlehem, Lo! I am harsher than the salt sea-shore, And purblind, like some beggar of the plain, With knotted hair, and beard that hath not known The comb's caress for wandering wasted years. I know thy fingers are too fresh and cool To lie within my gnarled and leathern hands; I know thy kiss drops on my mouth like dew On dust, or like those petals of the peach Starring the ruined road to Olivet. But I have left the pilgrims in the path To wrangle round their creeds with shaken staves, And I have left the thought that I am old, For, gazing in the pools of thy dark eyes, The mirrored portrait of myself seems young. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BY THE SALPETRIERE by THOMAS ASHE BODY AND SOUL: A METAPHYSICAL ARGUMENT by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT WIND SONG by LUCIA PEARL BOORNAZIAN WHILE LOVELINESS GOES BY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH ST. VALENTINE'S EVE by EUGENE WATSON BURLINGAME |