We made our love a pretty thing Of panzied words and peacock thought And tied it with a crimson string Meticulously bought. Most carefully we chose its food And gave it days of sun and air Shielding it from things not good . . . Rain and fog and grey despair. Alas we never can explain The rose thorn in its pretty side; We really think it felt no pain So quietly it turned and died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH PENETRANT by CONRAD AIKEN CAMPUS SONNET: RETURN - 1917 by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET DRUMS AND BRASS by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON JOY (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SUNSET by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |