SPEAK, quiet lips, and utter forth my fate; Before thy beauty I bow down, I kneel, Girl, and to thee my life I dedicate, And seal the past up with a dateless seal. What delicate hours and seasons without storm Have nursed thee, and what happy English dale? For tenderer is thy light and gracile form Than any snowy wind-flower of the vale. O wild-flower, though the bee that drinks thy wine Must soar past crags that front the leaping sea, I climb to thee; thy beauty shall be mine; Or let the cold green wave go over me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 18 by CONRAD AIKEN SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAVIS MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST VOICES OF THE AIR by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |