Too red, too red the roses were, Too black the ivy on the tree -- Dear, at the trembling of your hair All my despair comes back to me. Too blue and tender was the sky, The sea too green, the air too sweet -- I always fear -- why should not I? -- The cruel fleeing of your feet. I am weary of leaves bright and dim, Of shining box and sombre yew, Of the horizon's endless rim, And of all things but you . . . but you. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TIE-DOWN OF A BONSAI by MARVIN BELL THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW IVY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SAVORING THE PAST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER |