Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MY WISTARIA GIRL, by CHARLES LOUIS HENRY WAGNER First Line: I walked a charming bit of country road Last Line: Somehowshe's near. Subject(s): Girls; Wisteria | ||||||||
I walked a charming bit of country road Not long ago, that lay Betwixt the city and my town abode, 'Twas warm, indeed, that day. I rested on a rough stone wall beside a welcome spring And listened to a Bob-white call; I whistled, answering The noisy bird. And then, so soft, I heard a sweeter sound Come trilling back to me. No echo that, I knew, no feathered warbler 'round Could match such euphony. And I,I stood transfixed a moment with delight Enraptured by that cry, "Bob White, Bob White," 'Twas that I heard. I gazed around, and there close to the street I saw a drooping vine, Rich with its purple-tinted blooms, and sweet With perfume, scenting fine The gentle summer breeze. It ran o'er trellised bower Hiding the lattice work completeeach drooping flower Like stalactites. Half hidden close beside that flowered screen A maiden stood, with face As fair as any I in life had seen, And regal, artless grace Her figure bore; her auburn locks contrasted tints Of softened greens and lilac, catching glints Of summer lights. A simple gown of pink, a flowing, untrimmed dress Enhanced exquisite charms, A pensive face, of wondrous comeliness, A goddess ne'er had arms So ravishingly white; one hand extended grasped A trellis brace, the other gently clasped A spiral bloom. I met her eyes, my soul leaped from its bound, Those liquid depths bespake Such pleasant isles, ship "Reason" ran aground, No light-buoys mark Love's lake; Her cherry lips were sweetly purseda human mocking-bird Was she, "Bob White" the Lorelei that I heard Had sealed my doom. One smile she gave, one roguish, witching smile, And said, "A simple joke, My Bob-White call."So artless, free from guile And musical she spoke, Methought that Pan had taught his golden pipes to her As he had taught Apollo how to stir Each wind-blown reed. I wonderWas the wistaria's strong scent Of opiatic kind, That froze my tongue, and virulent Had stupified my mind? I answered not, 'twas sacrilege for me to speak To one divine,I stood there, abject, weak, Nor dared proceed. An understanding nod, then like a flash Of sun on silvered glass She rushed away.I heard the water plash Against the stones, the grass Beneath my feet, no longer soft, seemed toughened brake, No rustic charm was left, no spring could slake My love-thirst drear. I've planted vines beside my cottage door, Wistarias so sweet; I dream of her, I see her there once more, My picture's incomplete. It lacks her voice, her smile, her eyes with mischief's light, But when I hear at times a shrill "Bob White," Somehowshe's near. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WISTERIA LIGHT by DIANE DI PRIMA WISTARIA VINTAGE by MAUDE E. HUDSON THE PURPLE WISTARIA by RUTH LE PRADE WISTERIA LIGHT by DIANE DI PRIMA WISTERIA by ELOISE KLEIN HEALY WISTERIA by STEPHEN CRAIG KNAUTH A DROP OF INK by CHARLES LOUIS HENRY WAGNER |
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