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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HANDS, by LOUIS UNTERMEYER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: Strange, how this smooth and supple joint can be
Last Line: Curved in a smile. . . . The mystery remains.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael
Subject(s): Hands
First Line: Strange, how this smooth and supple joint can be
Last Line: Curved in a smile. . . . The mystery remains.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael
Subject(s): Hands
Strange, how this smooth and supple joint can be
Put to so many purposes. It checks
And rears the monsters of machinery
And shapes the idle gallantries of sex.
Those hands that light the fuse and dig the trap,
Fingers that drive a world, or plunge through shame --
And yours, that lie so lightly in your lap,
Are only blood and dust, all are the same.
What mystery directs them through the world
And gives these delicate bones so great a power? . . .
You nod your head. You sleep. Your hands are curled
Loosely, like some half-opened, perfumed flower.
An hour ago they burned in mine and sent
Armies with banners charging through my veins.
Now they are cool and white; they rest content.
Curved in a smile. . . . The mystery remains.
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