Sweet child, little girl with well-shaped legs you cannot touch the thoughts I put over and under and around you. This is fortunate for they would burn you to an ash otherwise. Your petals would be quite curled up. This is all beyond you -- no doubt, yet you do feel the brushings of the fine needles; the tentative lines of your whole body prove it to me; so does your fear of me, your shyness; likewise the toy baby cart that you are pushing -- and besides, mother has begun to dress your hair in a knot. These are my excuses. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BIANCA AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING RIDDLE ON THE LETTER H (1) by CATHERINE MARIA FANSHAWE A STORM IN THE DISTANCE (AMONG THE GEORGIAN HILLS) by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE HOW VIOLETS CAME BLUE by ROBERT HERRICK BUDDHA AND BRAHMA by HENRY BROOKS ADAMS LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |