So jealous of your beauty, You will not wed For dread That hymeneal duty Should touch and mar The lovely thing you are? Come to your garden-bed! Learn there another lesson: This poppy-head, Instead Of having crimson dress on, Is now a fruit, Whose marvellous pale suit Transcends the glossy red. What, count the colour Of apricot, Ungot, Warming in August, duller Than those most shy, Frail flowers that spread and die Before the sun is hot! Lady, the hues unsightly, And best forgot, Are not Berries and seeds set brightly, But withered blooms: Alack, vainglory dooms You to their ragged lot! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHT AND DAY by SIDNEY LANIER THE PITY OF THE LEAVES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SONG (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE CARD-DEALER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL HYMN by WALT WHITMAN TO A CERTAIN CIVILIAN by WALT WHITMAN INSCRIPTIONS: 3 by MARK AKENSIDE THE LETTER; EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, DIED FEBRUARY 27, 1887 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |