HER laugh was not in the middle of her face quite, As a gay laugh springs, It was plain she was anxious about some things I could not trace quite. Her curls were like fir-cones - piled up, brown - Or rather like tight-tied sheaves: It seemed they could never be taken down.... And her lips were too full, some might say: I did not think so. Anyway, The shadow her lower one would cast Was green in hue whenever she passed Bright sun on midsummer leaves. Alas, I knew not much of her, And lost all sight and touch of her! If otherwise, should I have minded The shy laugh not in the middle of her mouth quite, And would my kisses have died of drouth quite As love became unblinded? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROST AT MIDNIGHT by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE WOODLARK by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS GLOIRE DE DIJON by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE MAIDEN CITY by CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH TONNA DAY AND NIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE TWO DREAMS by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO HARMONY by FRANCES HALLEY BROCKETT THE SALLE MONTESQUIEU; A PARISIAN REMINISCENCE by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |