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...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WOMAN'S GENITALS by HAYDEN CARRUTH AFTER WRITING A POEM by DAVID IGNATOW WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW SAVORING THE PAST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SOMEBODY LOVED ME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITH CONANT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |