DRIPPING the hollyhocks beneath the wall, Their fires half quenched, a smouldering red; A shred of gold upon the grasses tall, A butterfly is hanging dead. A sound of trickling waters, like a tune Set to sweet words; a wind that blows Wet boughs against a saffron sky; all June Caught in the breath of one white rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES TO WILLIAM LINLEY WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE BEAN-STALK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY TRUST by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE PAPER KITE, SELS by SAMUEL BOWDEN A LETTER TO HER HUSBAND by ANNE BRADSTREET TWO POINTS OF VIEW: 2 by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB EPITAPH ON NICOL OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH by ROBERT BURNS |