The beeches are vibrant because there is black in them against the horizon. Hundreds of calla lilies, the sun's fingers nudge the wide-hipped clouds. Here we are summoned into the world: I pass those whom I pleased out of disdain to create, what, a style? And those sulking, coaxed by the beech in full bloom. The bark was written on, names I can't remember. How long is your hair now, how long will it be? Hang discretion and its three-cornered nuts! I love you and vow I'm no longer idle, climbing a long line of beeches like lace. Jane with sunspots; with, almost, grace. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH AND ART by ROBERT BROWNING WASTED HOURS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES A SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND ARMY [MAY 24, 1865] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 23. AL-KHAFIZ by EDWIN ARNOLD ON THE DEITY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |