The rain's cold grains are silver-gray Sharp as golden sands, A bell is clanging, people sway Hanging by their hands. Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff, Snatch and catch and grope; That face is yellow-pale, as if The fellow swung from rope. Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives, Glances strike and glare, Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives Dangle by the hair. Orchard of the strangest fruits Hanging from the skies; Brothers, yet insensate brutes Who fear each others' eyes. One man stands as free men stand As if his soul might be Brave, unbroken; see his hand Nailed to an oaken tree. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 6. RUINS OF PAESTUM by SARA TEASDALE THE KEARSARGE (1894) by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE OPPORTUNITY by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL THE HEART OF THE WOMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS COWBOY VERSUS BRONCHO by JAMES BARTON ADAMS THERE IS NO LOVING AFTER DEATH by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS |