Always there will be waiting women, son, with beauty's lure to trip your eager feet; eyes that are velvet soft and lips as sweet as purple plums in summer's halcyon and languid noon. Delilahs to be won only by supersacrifice, complete with your destruction and your sure defeat until your dreams have crashed oblivion. Nothing will stay you. Nothing that I can do will veer you from the course your chart has told; yet always, somewhere, waits a woman, too, with love past measure -- Brittany's Isolde -- and, hope undimmed within her cloistral room, Penelope will thread the patient loom. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON YOU SAY YOU SAID by MARIANNE MOORE |