Her parasol's a mushroom turned a bowl Pale shadows fill with violet that serves To cool the heat of the sun (before it swerves, And skies remove it from their buttonhole, To dip it in the night, refresh the soul) -- A bowl some hidden twitch of anxious nerves Just touches, tilts a little, so its curves Won't spill a single shadow from her pool: If he were not enthralled with meditation, His fingers might turn players, gently harry Light zither strings to carry mediation, Bring sight and sound with resonance to tarry: But he can only breathe a phrase more frail, And leave releasing to the nightingale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT: 21 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) THE SAD SHEPHERD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FULFILLMENT by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY |