The beauty of no woman to my flesh Is intimate spirit if she be not pale; I love not roses that are dewy fresh If on a cheek they tell no passionate tale; And passion is the after-sunset breath That withers them, wrinkling their petals white; Also, since love is next of kin to death, Let love foreshow the colours of that night. There is a whiteness of thrice mortal fire, And of this ardency immaculate, Which is the seal of perfected desire, The promise of desires yet passionate, I would some ardent weariness should speak: If not, I praise, but do not kiss, her cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL by PAUL VERLAINE MAHMOUD by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT SONNET: WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON by JOHN KEATS THE NO-LONGER-MERRY ANCIENT MONARCH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. RUSTIC INTERIOR by JOHN ARMSTRONG |