One sweet of hands, one starred for grace, Should leave the heavy word alone, Should cease to cut and carve and trace, End the combat with a stone! The austere sentence that you drill Until the granite dust hangs blue, Etched by your instrument of will Is bitten not so deep as you. Lettered for time, in marble told, Your speech stands chiseled and concise; Its surfaces are dazzling cold, Swept clean of dust as ice. Now hollow as a cup your cheek In alabaster gleams -- You gave your blood that you might speak And cut the throat of dreams . . . The silence softer women bring Betrays the velvet smile of scorn; They know a softer, stranger thing -- That there are children to be borne . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY A VIEW, OF SADDLEBACK IN CUMBERLAND by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE LET THE LIGHT ENTER (THE DYING WORDS OF GOETHE) by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER THE SHADOWS by FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN THE ROSES ON THE TERRACE by ALFRED TENNYSON |