For this she starred her eyes with salt And scooped her temples thin, Until her face shone pure of fault From the forehead to the chin. In coldest crucibles of pain Her shrinking flesh was fired And smoothed into a finer grain To make it more desired. Pain left her lips more clear than glass; It colored and cooled her hand. She lay a field of scented grass Yielded as pasture land. For this her loveliness was curved And carved as silver is: For this she was brave: but she deserved A better grave than this. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUTWARD BOUND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LOW TIDE ON GRAND-PRE by BLISS CARMAN ELEGY: 19. TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED by JOHN DONNE WOMAN'S CONSTANCY by JOHN DONNE FRAGMENT THIRTY-SIX by HILDA DOOLITTLE |