No rose that in a garden ever grew, In Homer's or in Omar's or in mine, Though buried under centuries of fine Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew Forever, and forever lost from view, But must again in fragrance rich as wine The grey aisles of the air incarnadine When the old summers surge into a new. Thus when I swear, "I love with all my heart," 'Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear, 'Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece; And thus as well my love must lose some part Of what it is, had Helen been less fair, Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TREE OF SONG by SARA TEASDALE THE GRINDSTONE by ROBERT FROST SONNET: OF THREE GIRLS AND OF THEIR TALK by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO THE DOLLS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TIPPERARY: 4. BY OUR OWN A. E. HOUSMAN by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE SECOND CANTO, OR FIRST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE |